


Fate's Lady

by WildWren



Series: Aethelflaed: Lady of the Mercians [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anglo-Saxon History, Angst, Descriptions of Marital Abuse, Did I Mention Angst?, Dom/sub, Erotica, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gentle Dom, Graphic Violence, Historical Research, Lady Power, Light Dom/sub, Political Alliances, Romance, Secret love, Slow Burn, angst angst and more angst, don't read this story if you don't like angst, it might even qualify as whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 109,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWren/pseuds/WildWren
Summary: Sequel to Hostage of Fate. Part Two of my series Aethelflaed: Lady of the Mercians, an AU take on Aethelflaed and Erik's story. Read Part One before continuing here :)Aethelflaed and Erik's plan has been foiled, and Aethelflaed is left hopeless and alone as she is returned to her husband Aethelred. But Erik lives, and dreams of a new plan to find Aethelflaed and make her his own. Together, they may be able to fulfill their fates...and fulfill their oaths to each other. But it will be a hard road, full of love and treachery, secret alliances and betrayals, and the inexorable pull of fate towards war. How will Aethelflaed reclaim her power, and her destiny? Will their love make it through to the other side? Only time with tell."Sometimes Erik felt that he had little care for the power. It was only Aethelflaed he truly wanted. But if he had to, he would bring down a kingdom to have her."
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson, Aethelflaed/Erik
Series: Aethelflaed: Lady of the Mercians [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605529
Comments: 144
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

Part One: To Mercia 

Erik was surprised, and slightly confused. He had not expected Valhalla to be so cold and wet. He had not expected to feel a weak sickness and a raging pain in his chest. This was not what he had been promised. He opened his eyes slowly, painstakingly, against the glare of the day and found himself lying on the deck of a ship. A boat might have been the more accurate word for the small vessel that bobbed within the foaming sea spray. Erik had been on boats since he was a child, and thought his stomach was hardened to the tilt and lull of the sea. But now he felt a need to be ill, and he wretched violently onto himself, unable to sit upright or turn. The motion sent a shock of pain through his body, and he cried out, even as he tried to control his retching. His senses reeled in confusion.

And then Uhtred was next to him, crouching down and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. Uhtred Ragnarson. The man he had fought for London. The man who had taken off his brother's hand. The man who had tried to....who had come to...to save him, and his lover. _Aethelflaed_.

“U-uhtre-ed.” He coughed the name out, his breath thin and wheezy, his throat searing with a dry pain. “Uhtr-ed. What has..what has happened? Where-- are w-we? Where...Where i-is..she?”

Erik could say nothing more. He remembered with a flaring jolt the vision of Aethelflaed's face behind him as she fought against the men who held her. His heart tightened and lurched in his chest.

Uhtred looked down at him with a pained expression on his rough face.

“We are on Gunnar's boat.” Erik could not see the man, but he heard a familiar cough from the aft of the vessel, where Gunnar would be manning the steering oar. “We have escaped with our lives. And you are beloved by the Gods, for you live and breathe another day. I did not think it possible.” Uhtred smiled at him, but it was a weak comfort.

“Ae-ethelflae-ed.” Erik gasped. “Where..is A-aethelflaed?” His voice was becoming stronger and clearer, even as his heart threatened to fail in his chest.

Uhtred took a breath, exhaled roughly. “She was taken, Erik. Recaptured by Siegfried's men.”

Erik tried to move then, to lurch up into some action, but the pain seared wildly through him, as though his chest had been wrenched from within. He gasped and fell back, panting from the effort and pain. He could only utter a low, desperate moan.

“And you are still recovering, fool.” Uhtred's hand held him down with light pressure. “Do not be so brazen to think you are out of danger yet.”

“I – Aethelflaed... you left her!” There was a weak anger in his voice now, and he saw Uhtred's face flash.

“We had no choice, Erik. We would all have died trying to recover her. She would not have wanted that. She did not want that, I am certain.”

“Sieg-fried..he will...”

“He will not harm her. She is his silver. He will not harm her.” Uhtred seemed to be trying to convince himself as well as Erik. Erik could only glare at the man. Uhtred glared back.

“Think how disappointed I must be! I came to Beamfleot to save the Lady Aethelflaed. All I got out of the deal was a useless, half-dead Norse man. But she commanded me to save you, Erik.”

Erik closed his eyes, grinding his teeth against the pain and the sense of utter uselessness that filled him.

“What will..happen now? With Aethelflaed?” He looked searchingly at Uhtred.

“The ransom will be paid, I suppose. There will be no chance for another escape. Siegfried will have his army, there will be war with Wessex and Mercia. And you...you will try not to die.”

“I s-swore to her, Uhtred!” Erik's voice was a desperate rasp. “I swore that she would not return to Aethelred.” Uhtred sighed, and there was true compassion on his face then.

“So you are not sailing away into the sunset together, as you'd hoped. It does not mean you will not find each other again. Aethelflaed will endure her captivity. She will endure Siegfried and she will endure Aethelred if she must. She is strong, stronger than maybe either of us know.”

Erik did not wish to weep, not in front of Uhtred. But he felt a rising sense of grief in his throat. Perhaps Uhtred noticed that, and he stood to leave.

“You love her Erik, I know,” he said, before walking away. “But Aethelflaed does not need your love right now. She needs your strength and your wit. She needs you to live.”

Uhtred was right. Erik's wound was still raw and healing, and his life still hung on the will of the Gods. His wound was a long, clean gash that had sliced under Erik's sword arm, from the low muscle of his shoulder to his ribs. Uhtred said that he could see the bones through the rent in Erik's flesh, before he had cauterized the wound with a red hot ax head. He said Erik had screamed loud enough to rip the night itself, but Erik had no memory of the ordeal. He had slept for two days after the surgery, and now that he had wakened, he wished he could slip back into unconsciousness. The pain ate at him constantly, an aching burning torment that made him weak and exhausted yet kept his body from sleep. He remembered Siegfried's pain, after his hand had been lost, the long slow healing his brother had endured with wretched anger. And so another pain weighed on him, too: his brother, lost to him, their love broken in betrayal. And in the midst of it all, he thought of Aethelflaed, and he burned.

His only relief was Audr. Audr, the little kitchen girl who had become a friend and spy, and who had apparently taken his words to heart that night at the docks. He had cried out in surprise and joy when he had first seen her slip above the boards of Gunnar's deck.

“I couldn't get rid of her,” the man had said, but he smiled as he said it, and Erik had not minded when Audr had clasped his arm in a loving embrace.

“Lord Erik!” She exclaimed. “It is good that you are awake, finally. I was starting to worry.”

“I'm not so glad for it,” he said gruffly. “I think I'd rather be asleep, or dead.”

“Do not say that!” Erik was only mildly taken aback by her chastisement; Audr had always spoke her mind. “You must not say that! The Lady Aethelflaed --” and then Audr's voice fell short and her eyes filled up with tears. Erik felt his own grief rising in his throat.

“She would be happy you are here.” It was a lame comfort, he knew.

“She is all alone now! And the Lord Uhtred says we cannot go back for her!”

“We cannot.” And even as he said it, he wished it wasn't so, and cursed himself for saying what he himself had refused to hear. “I wish we could, Audr. But it would be death. Aethelflaed would not thank us for it.”

And so they sailed on. They could have docked at London, or any other port along the southern shore of Wessex, but to do so would require moving Erik with no assurance as to his safety. So as long the weather held on the water, they stayed on the swift, sure-keeled vessel that Gunnar called _Foamrider_. Audr washed Erik's wound with salt water each day, and then dressed and sealed with the raw burn with honey.

“A trick I learned from my mother,” she explained.

“And now you'll owe me for my honey as well as the passage,” Gunnar added.

The honey did help. It eased the searing pain of the burn, and within a few days, the skin around it became less puckered and tender. The ache still remained, deep and ragged in Erik's chest and side. But he could sit himself up now, and with help he could stand and walk the deck with a slow, feeble gait. The wound had not festered, thanks to the Gods and Audr's persistent care. And so Erik began to recover.

 _Foamrider_ plodded inexorably westwards and soon the decision came to turn up the Solent and the River Icene towards Wintancester.

“It is our best option,” Uhtred explained in the face of Erik's doubts. “We cannot turn back Eastwards and head up the Thames into Mercia without risking attack from Siegfried's ships. And I must go to Wintancester. Alfred's spies will no doubt have informed him that I am not at Coccham.”

“And what I am to do? A Northman in the heart of Wessex?” Erik was stressed. He had pushed himself too hard the day before, trying to lift a sword with his weak right arm. Now he ached from his neck to his knees and wished only for a heavy draught of ale.

“There are plenty of Danes in Wessex,” Uhtred assured. “They are not killed on sight.”

“And if I am recognized? Aethelred knows my face, and many of Alfred's men too, no doubt.”

“Then you shall have to try not to be recognized.” Uhtred spoke with the lazy self-assurance that Erik had come to expect from the man. It did not endear Uhtred to him at this moment.

Erik sighed and nodded nonetheless. “I will head for Mercia. Danish Mercia. With Dagfinn and Audr.”

“Can you ride?”

“I will have to, won't I?”

“Do not die, Erik. I will be quite angry at you for wasting my time if you do.”

“It is not my intention.”

They stood, looking Northwards out of the bow, towards England and Wessex. The waters had been calm as they tacked close to the Southern shores. But the winter storms would soon descend and the waters would offer safe haven no longer. Even on land, Erik would need a place to rest, and to continue to heal, while he waited for Aethelflaed's release.

“So, Danish Mercia.” Uhtred continued. “What will you do there?”

“Gathering your report for Alfred, are you?”

Uhtred shot Erik with a hard, sharp look, but there was an amused smile on his face. “If you did not trust me Erik, one of us would be dead by now. Probably you.” And he laughed, but it was a good natured laugh, and Erik did not chafe at it.

There was a long pause. “Aethelred's court. Where is it?”

Uhtred thought for a moment. “It...is not fixed. He moves from place to place. But when he is not in London or visiting Wintancester, I think he stays most often at Aegelsburg.”

“Aegelsburg.” Erik was surprised. “That is close to Watling Street, no?” Uhtred nodded. “Then I shall go to Bedaford.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What shall you do in Bedaford?”

“I will rest, I will heal. I will wait for Aethelflaed's return. What else can I do?”

Uhtred was exasperated. “And then what? Aethelflaed will return and you will what...steal her in the night?”

“I don't know.” Erik gazed out at the wide green land before him, confused and frustrated. His head still felt dull from the pain and exhaustion and he could not understand what Uhtred was trying to push him towards.

“Think, Erik!” Uhtred said then. “Siegfried will be moving against Wessex and Mercia by spring. Aethelflaed and the Mercians will need allies. Or else we are all lost.”

Erik shook his head in confusion now. “Aethelred will command the Mercians. He won't allow Aethelflaed anything to do with it, let alone me.”

Uhtred shrugged casually, looking away. “Unless Aethelred is killed.”

Erik's mind reeled. Since he had awoken on the boat, he had spent most of his waking moments envisioning the ways he could claim back Aethelflaed. He had imagined them running away together, as they had dreamt in their time at Beamfleot. But he had never thought of killing Aethelred, or letting Aethelred be killed, and claiming his position. The idea was...impossible.

“What you suggest,” he said now. “It could never work.”

Uhtred shrugged again. “It could not hurt to try. Go to Danish Mercia. Perhaps you can rally men against Siegfried. Danish men. It would make you a valuable ally to the Lady of Mercia...in the event that she was tragically widowed.”

Erik felt his heart begin to race as Uhtred's idea filtered into him.

“I can barely walk.” He countered. “My household consists of one man and a kitchen maid. I have little wealth to my name as it is, and half belongs to Gunnar. Men would never follow me. They would have no reason to.”

“But you have _reputation_ , Erik.” Uhtred's voice was impassioned now. “You helped capture the cities of Eoferwic and London. You held the fortress Beamfleot against Guthrum. You captured King Alfred's daughter! And now you've slipped like a fish from your brother's grasp only to rise from a mortal wound and walk again. Men will follow you, if you let them.”

Erik was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, he looked at Uhtred with an open earnestness. “I have never led without my brother.”

Uhtred looked back at him, his eyes filled with an unexpected tenderness. “Than you shall have to learn.” Uhtred paused, and smiled. “But the girl should come with me. I'll bring her to Gisula at my household at Coccham. She'll be safer there. Well cared for.”

Audr sat along the edge of the ship, whittling some trinket with a small, sharp knife. At Uhtred's words, she sheathed it and looked up at them both. Her eyes were fierce. “I will stay with the Lord Erik.”

And so they set their course for Wintancester, and Mercia.


	2. Chapter 2

Once, when she was a girl, Aethelflaed had fallen off the wide stone deck outside her father's hall. She had been playing, chasing her brother Edward around the pillars of the courtyard and running from him in turn. And then she had taken a step backwards and felt – nothing, only air beneath her feet where the ground should have been. She had been hurt in the fall, not terribly, but her mother still fussed and crooned over her until her bruises and sprains had healed. But it was not the pain that she remembered. It was the feeling of falling, the sense of shock that came over her as the ground had seemingly vanished. She could not forget it, even after she had healed. She would wake in the night, all throughout the years of her childhood, yelling in fear of a bottomless fall.

That was what Aethelflaed felt now. She had not bathed in what felt like weeks. She barely ate, and took only water. Her hair had become matted and rank. And she cared little about any of it. She just fell, in a bottomless void of hopeless, aching loss.

She had thought she might be punished, but Siegfried did not punish her. He did not visit her, nor threaten her, nor send his men to torment her. He simply locked her up and threw away the key. There was no fire to keep back the deepening chill. They did not trust her with flame. There was only a heap of furs and cloaks, and Aethelflaed spent her days shivering beneath them, until her body was sore with its own lack of movement. If she could have seen herself then, Aethelflaed thought she'd see a wild, dead-eyed shade, a ghastly specter void of speech, void of warmth, void of hope.

She tried not to think of Erik, of the weak coughing splutter of his voice...of his face, pale and bloodless in the night... of his chest, torn and red with his life...of his life. _Did he live? Had he joined his Gods in Valhalla?_ _Had he left her, to suffer the world without him_? She tried not to think of it, but it was all that paced her lonely thoughts, in that cold dark room without a friend in the world. But even then, she could not weep, she could only keep falling.

She had lost all sense of time when the ransom finally came. It could have been weeks, or months for all she knew. But the air still held winter's chill, and the sun still set early and rose late, so it seemed the land had not yet turned towards spring. She felt nothing, when the woman finally came to help her bathe in half frozen water, and to roughly comb her tangled hair into thick, tight braids. She felt no excitement, nor relief. Once, she might have wondered what she was supposed to feel. But she did not wonder that anymore. She did not care.

The woman left her to dress herself, with a chest of Saxon clothes brought for her by...Aethelred? Had he come to retrieve her himself? She dressed slowly, methodically. The heavy Saxon cloth felt strange on her skin after so long in a threadbare shift. But she welcomed the clean fabric and the warmth of the wool, as she pulled on her under dress and girdle. She even wound her head in a veil of fine woolen cloth in a rich shade of forest green. She fastened the head dress with a delicately embroidered band around her forehead, and finally draped and pinned a deep blue mantle around her shoulders.

The finery of it all was alien to her. She felt like an impostor, a woman wearing a false skin. Surely they would be able to see her for what she truly was – a feral creature, lost to her own pain. But for now, she would pretend that she was still a princess, that she was still a woman.

She was soon led out, into Siegfried's wide hall. Even the speech and laughter of men sounded strange to her now, so long had she dwelt in her own silent solitude. She followed the speech as if watching from a great distance. She saw Siegfried, his face more bitter than ever. She saw Aethelred, sour and condescending in his demeanor, as always. _So he had come_. His man Aldhelm stood behind him, and a bevy of guards and warriors fringed out behind them.

“We have counted and weighed the coin, Lord Aethelred,” Siegfried was saying. “All is in good order. And you shall have your woman back.” Siegfried gestured towards Aethelflaed and Aethelred seemed to notice her for the first time.

“She is well? She looks sickly.” He spoke to Siegfried as if she wasn't there.

“Well your wife is a sickly woman. It is not my concern.” Aethelflaed stared at them both, her eyes hollow, her mouth drawn. She saw Aethelred's face twitch with some unreadable emotion. Was it disgust? Fear? Perhaps she looked even worse than she thought.

“What of your brother?” Aethelred was asking now. “The Lord Erik. I have not seen him. Where is he?”

“My brother is dead.”

Aethelred laughed. “Good riddance then, I say.” Siegfried only spat and said nothing.

Aethelflaed did not shake or cringe at Siegfried's words. There was no shock in them for her anymore. She had told herself the same thing, over and over, as she lay alone in her cell. She did not know if Siegfried spoke the truth, or if he even knew the truth. She could do nothing either way. She could only fall.

They left Beamfleot that day, a caravan on horseback. They crossed South over the Thames first, plowing across the cold stream with packs and horses on wide, poled ferries. Then they rode East through the lands of Kent, skirting South of London. It would be a longer journey this way, but it took them out of Danish territory as quickly as possible, and there was certainly some sense in that.

Aethelflaed rode astride her chestnut mare, even though Aethelred sniffled sourly every time he saw her with her legs spread across the horse's wide back. They had spoken little, although he had tried to insist that she ride in the confined carriage he had brought with them to transport her. She had flatly refused, even though she now ached with the strain of the saddle. Her unused, underfed body had become weak and frail in her confinement, and now her back and legs seized and cramped with every step the horse took. But she said nothing. She would not be put into another cage.

A priest rode with them as well, a man named Halig who Aethelflaed remembered from her time at Aegelsburgh, before Aethelred had taken her London. He was a reedy man, tall and thin, with short cropped gray hair and a wispy beard. He looked kindly enough, but Aethelflaed had learned that he was a dour type, always spitting sinister threats and dire warnings about the wrath of the Lord. He tried to speak to her as they rode, calling her to repent for her time in a Heathen camp, warning her to pray for the forgiveness of the Lord, for she had surely been close to the Devil himself in that God-forsaken place, and so must now prove the purity of her soul. Aethelflaed simply rode silently as he spoke to her, her eyes forward and her face drawn. She had no shame to share with this man, and he had no balm for her pain. In time, he got bored, or frustrated, and rode away to find more amenable company.

It was after several hours of this that Aethelflaed realized she did not know where they were going. Aethelred rode beside her silently, and she finally bothered to find her voice.

“Lord husband, where are we headed? To London? To Wintancester?” They had been living in London before she had been captured. Perhaps he intended to return there now.

Aethelred sniffed. “We will go to Mercia, to my estate at Aegelsburg.”

“I would like to go to Wintancester, Lord. To see my parents.” She would have liked to go to Wintancester to seek out Uhtred, if he was there, but she could not say that.

Aethelred was already retorting. “Your place is in Mercia, Lady. That is where we will go. We have certainly paid for the right to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Aethelflaed nodded. It was what she had expected. She sighed then, and looked out to gaze at the wide gray horizon.

“Did they tell you that I tried to escape, Lord?” Her voice was low and free of emotion.

Aethelred stiffened. “Yes. We heard. Siegfried tried to raise the price on you in punishment for the trouble. It is why the ransom came sooner than planned. So he would take the silver and cease his unreasonable demands.”

“I see.” She had not known that the ransom was early. “And did they tell you, Lord, that...I killed three men? When I tried to escape?” She spoke conversationally, as if discussing the weather. Aethelred was silent.

“I stabbed one in the back,” she continued. “I cut one across the throat, with a sword. And the last one – well, actually, he was the _first_ one I killed – I stuck a kitchen knife right through his head. He had tried to rape me, you see.” Aethelred looked away when she spoke and did not respond.

She continued, mild as a summer's day. “The strange thing is, it really was much easier than I thought it would be. To kill, that is. It wasn't hard at all. The men were all so surprised too. It was almost funny.” And she even laughed then, a light and hollow sound, brittle as a bird bone.

The silence stretched for a long time then. Aethelred rode beside her, his face a stone sheet and his hands clenched tightly on the reins.

“We will go to Wintancester,” she said finally. And then she spurred her horse forward to ride closer to the head of the line, aching all the way. Aethelred did not stop her.

They stopped to rest the night at a small burgh South of London. Aethelred was acquainted with the local lord, a large, grumpy man by the name of Edgewic. He was formal enough in his welcome, and treated Aethelred and Aethelflaed to a fine meal of warm roast mutton and fresh apple wine. But there was a hard, dark look in his eyes as he entertained them, and his wan, whittled wife did not speak to Aethelflaed at all. She wondered how much they had been forced to contribute to her ransom. She would be little loved in Wessex or Mercia, now.

She could barely eat anyway. Her stomach was a small, shriveled thing and even the sweet apple wine made her feel lightheaded and ill. She took her rest in a small, comfortable guest chamber off of the main hall and was pleased and surprised when Aethelred seemed to find his bed elsewhere. Perhaps she had scared him more than she realized. When they left in the morning, they rode towards Wintancester.


	3. Chapter 3

The village of Bedaford was a loose and lawless place. The whole of Danish Mercia was a loose and lawless place for that matter. In the land between the borders of Aethelred, Alfred, Guthrum, and Guthred, there was no king. Some local thanes owed their fealty to the crowns of East Anglia, or Northumbria. Some were sworn to a variety of petty kinglets, borough leaders and warlords fighting for a share of Danish Mercia as their own. Some were loyal only to themselves.

Bedaford was a border town, situated just beyond the Eastern side of Watling Street, and so churned with a ragged mix of Saxons and Danes, traders and rogue fighting men, cottagers and whores. Erik, Dagfinn and Audr found comfortable, if uneasy, rest in a cheap tavern when they arrived, and Erik slept fitfully for three days while Dagfinn stood watch and Audr set about gaining information about the town.

It had been a brutal ride from Wintancester. It could have taken three days or less, had Erik been fit and well. Instead, it took nearly a week, as they started late and stopped early, and passed their nights in threadbare inns. They rode two horses, Erik on a black stallion and Dagfinn and Audr on a gray gelding. Dagfinn had secured the steeds in Wintancester, and they were not war horses, but they were fast and lithe and well mannered, and Erik had already grown fond of his mount by the time they reached Oxenford.

Erik was surprised by Oxenford. He had been eager for the rest of a warm bed in the village, but as they approached the town, Erik realized it was crawling with fighting men. Makeshift stables fringed the town's wooden ramparts, and men erected tents as others busied themselves digging latrine pits. The men of Mercia were gathering for war. So they had diverted their course around the town, and spent the night instead beside a fire in the woods. Erik had barely been able to ride ten miles the next day, so cold and stiff was he from the night.

But now they were in Bedaford, and Erik bore his rest with increased frustration. He was impatient to begin his real work of finding men and allies in Danish Mercia. But men were unlikely to follow a warlord who could barely hold himself upright. So he rested.

On the second day, Audr brought back of jar of goose grease salve pounded with Comfrey root and Yarrow blossoms and gestured for Erik to remove his tunic so she could apply it.

“The charmer said it is good for all manners of wounds. She said it will heal you from the inside out.”

“And this charmer,” Erik asked. “Was she Christian or Pagan?”

“I don't know,” Audr admitted. It mattered little, Erik supposed. Whether it was Christian magic or Pagan charms, it could likely do no harm to him in his sorry state.

Erik might have been modest or flushed at Audr's attentions, sitting half naked as she tended to him. But Audr was so even-tempered and self-assured in her work, and Erik had gotten used to her touch. Her hands did not rise his embarrassment, nor his lust.

“What is a reeve?” Audr asked, as she worked.

Erik squinted, thinking on the word and trying not to dwell on the tender bruising pain in his side. “It is an...official. A king's official. Or an aeldorman's. He sees to the administration of the town.” Erik paused to grimace at a surge of pain. “Why do you ask?”

Audr looked at him with clever eyes. “They say there is no reeve here. He died not long after the Treaty of Wedmore, and he was never replaced. There's no aeldorman for the shire either. The last was killed at Edunton.”

So Bedaford was a land without a law, a border town never rebuilt after the ravages of Guthrum's army and the great scything of Wedmore, which had divided the land between Saxon and Dane. Guthrum had retreated to his crown in East Anglia, and left Danish Mercia to the wolves.

“Then who protects the town, have you learned?” Erik asked. Audr was proving to be a very useful spy indeed. “Does any Lord claim it?”

Audr smiled knowingly. “There is a man. Cuthbert, they call him. He holds a fortified estate just North of the town. He has raised men to defend Bedaford in the past. They say he is a hard man, but not unduly cruel.”

Cuthbert was a Saxon name. But the man held and defended land in Danish Mercia. _Where did his allegiance truly lie?_

“You've done well, Audr.” Erik said. “Very well.” He sighed. “I will need to meet with this Cuthbert. But first, I need men.”

There were plenty of fighting men in Bedaford, there was no doubt about that. What Erik did doubt, however, was their worth and honor. He needed men who he could trust when it came time to find Aethelflaed. He needed men worth their salt.

He thought he might have found such a man, a week into their stay in Bedaford. Erik had finally recovered from the brutal travel, and spent most of his time alternating between walking slowly through the town and trying to lift small things with this right hand. Impatient as ever, he had tried to lift and swing a sword as soon as he was able to stand without dizziness. Audr had managed to cry out at him with a hissing yell before he staggered backwards from the pain and dropped the weapon.

So he practiced lifting an ale mug, as he sat outside a local tavern with Dagfinn. The sun was warm and bit away at the chill, and Erik preferred the fresh air. That's when he saw the men. They seemed to be bullying a young girl who struggled to carry a full basket through the narrow square. She was not a pretty girl, and she walked with a slight limp. The men had started picking up clumps of cold mud and straw and lobbing them at the girl, who was stiff with fear. Erik was about to intervene himself, when a younger man approached from behind him and neatly clipped the gang's ringleader on the back of the head with the handle of his seax-style knife.

The bully was startled, and spun around with his fist raised, ready to fight his attacker. And then Erik watched, slightly aghast, as the mysterious man took on the bully and all three of his henchmen, using only his long knife. The bullies had no weapons of their own, but even so it was an impressive performance. But the time it was over, the ringleader had backed away in a run with a deep gash across his forehead and a chunk of his ear missing. The man who had intervened was breathless, but otherwise seemed unfazed. The girl was gone.

Erik did not hesitate. “You!” He called, making the man jump a bit. “What's your name?”

The man eyed him with some suspicion. He was not a handsome man. His face had been scarred by pox and his brown beard came in scraggly and thin. But he was tall, and had good stature. And he was clearly an accomplished fighter.

“You can call me Birger,” he responded finally. A Danish name. But the man styled himself in the Saxon manner, and wore a cross around his neck.

“You're a Christian?” Erik asked. He had stood gingerly, trying to hide his pain, and now walked to meet the man in the square.

Birger gave Erik a searching look, and apparently taking him for a North man, he responded. “I'm not picky in my Gods.”

“I see. You are a good fighter. A warrior?”

Birger shrugged. “I fight for silver.” He did not address Erik as “Lord,” but Erik supposed that he had no reason to. It did not bother him.

“And who do you fight for now?”

“No one,” he said, a little surprised. “But some men are headed to Mercia. They are raising the fyrd there and may pay for more swords.”

“And you are a Mercian?”

Birger looked away. “I fight for silver.” was all he said.

“Would you fight for me, Birger?” Erik looked him clear in the eye when he asked it, and was pleased to see that Birger returned his gaze, unfazed.

“And who do you serve?”

Erik thought for a moment, furrowing his brow theatrically. “No one, I suppose,” he said finally, with a short laugh. “I serve myself. Lord Erik Thurgilson.”

He was slightly pleased to see Birger's eyes grow round with surprise.

“Erik Thurgilson? You are... Siegfried's brother? But he is making war against Alfred! You do not serve him?”

“I have broken with my brother,” Erik said with a pang. “And I am now an ally of those who want peace and prosperity in the lands of Mercia, Saxon or Dane.” He thought of Aethelflaed as he said it, and felt his heart ache. “What do you say? Will you join my guard?”


	4. Chapter 4

Uhtred was not in Wintancester. Aethelflaed would have liked to ask her father outright upon arriving, but that was not an option. Instead, she was forced to endure the boredom of formality and an achingly tearful greeting with her mother. Her father was stately, cordial and controlled as always, but even his eyes gleamed as she had met him on the steps of the palace.

“Praise God that you have been returned to us,” he said fervently, as he embraced her stiffly.

“Yes, Praise God!” her mother echoed. Even her brother Edward was there, his round face nervous and questioning as he looked at Aethelflaed. _What dour stories had they told him of her fate?,_ she wondered. And all them wrong. They could never have even imagined the truth.

She had wondered if Siegfried would spill the secret, of her and Erik's affair. It would certainly serve as another humiliation for Alfred, and for Aethelred, to taunt them that his own brother had ridden the Saxon Princess. But there was no evidence that he had done such a thing. Perhaps he feared devaluing his prize, or maybe it was simply his own pain that held his tongue.

And so now she returned to her family, the hostage, the helpless victim, saved in her purity from the clutches of the vile North men. Her father was greeting Aethelred now. Alfred's manner was warm, in his own tight way.

“Lord Aethelred, it is good to see you. We thank you for bringing Aethelflaed safely home. You have done a great service to Wessex, and to England.” He smiled.

Aethelred had the good sense to posture and preen under Alfred's regard. “I was only doing my duty, Lord King.”

“Indeed.” Alfred replied. “As do we all.” There was a tension in his voice that Aethelflaed did not understand. But it was often the case with her father.

So they were received at Wintancester, and attended the feast of celebration held in Aethelflaed's own honor. There were gifts given, some to Aethelflaed herself, some to the aeldormen and thanes who had given most generously to her ransom. Many people came to greet her, a faceless churn of her father's nobles and priests. Some seemed genuinely pleased to see her safe, some fawned over her theatrically in view of her father's watchful gaze. Some greeted her with formality amidst a cold and gritty regard, like Edgewic and his sour wife. She knew there were those who were unhappy with the ransom and her release. She noticed that her father's aeldorman Odda was not present at the feast, and wondered if they had fallen out over it.

She watched them all with a distant, unfeeling gaze, smiling when she knew she was supposed to smile, speaking small pleasantries when she was sure they were expected. But the festivities washed over her like a wave over a rock, failing to touch or change her own internal state.

The life had been slowly seeping back into her since they had begun heading to Wintancester. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally taking action of something, of being able to move in the world after so much stagnant waiting. She noticed the feeling returning her body, the hollowness filling behind her heart. But it did not bring peace, just a relapse into churning fear and doubt. She was no longer falling, but she had hit the ground.

Always her mind turned to Erik, and to Uhtred. _Where was Uhtred?_ _Why had he not come to find her yet?_ The question clenched a tight worry in her gut. If he had not sought her out with news yet, there could only be one thing he had to share.

On the second day after their arrival, Aethelflaed finally had the chance to speak to her father directly. They sat in the day hall, breaking their fast. Aethelflaed's mother had gone to her prayers, and Aethelflaed felt more open without her around.

“Father, where is Lord Uhtred? I have not seen the man since I arrived.” She asked the question casually, as if it were a mere passing thought.

“How I am supposed to know where the man is?” Alfred's voice was unexpectedly tense, but then again, Uhtred always made her father tense.

“He is your man, is he not?” Alfred eased and smiled a bit at his daughter's jest.

“And you know as well as I do, Uhtred does as he pleases.”

Aethelflaed returned his smile. “I only wished to give my gratitude, for his help in the negotiations. Is he at Coccham, do you think?”

Alfred sighed and gave her a hard look. “In all honesty, I wish I knew.” Aethelflaed was surprised. It was unlike her father to admit to ignorance. “He has been slipping my spies of late. But he was here, in Wintancester, some weeks back. That was how we learned of your....escape attempt.” His face was drawn.

Aethelflaed felt her heart start to rise and race in her chest. Uhtred had been here...he had been in Wintancester since...that night, when Aethelflaed had watched Erik cut down in front of her, and had been helpless to do anything. Had Erik been with him, hidden somewhere in the city? Or had he dropped Erik's corpse off the edge of a boat days past?

“And was he well? When you saw him?” She could not help asking, even though her father looked at her sharply.

“He was strange and unknowable, as is his way. I do not think I will ever truly understand that man.”

“He is a loyal servant, father. You should put more trust in him.”

Alfred merely looked at her, his mouth a thin line, and said nothing. Maybe he thought she was in love with Uhtred. It made no difference to her.

She had waited long enough, and Uhtred had not revealed himself. Athelred was getting increasingly impatient with her desire to stay in Wintancester, and was becoming surly and harsh to her even in the company of her parents. And so they packed and prepared for the journey back to Mercia. If Aethelflaed had been in charge of her own party, she would have commanded the train to Coccham, continuing her hunt for Uhtred. By Athelflaed was not in command, and they would not be going to Coccham. She even acquiesced to ride in the enclosed carriage that Aethelred had outfitted for her, as bumpy and unpleasant as it was. In truth, she was achingly saddle-sore, and the thought of another journey astride her chestnut mare made her tremble in dread.

And as they left Wintancester, abandoning her hope of news from Uhtred, abandoning her hope that any news would be welcome, she was glad for that small privacy. In the cool darkness of the carriage, no one could witness her silent tears.


	5. Chapter 5

They stopped in Oxenford on their way to Aegelsburgh. The town had become a full fledged camp, teeming with men and horses. The chaos was controlled by mounted warriors who rode, shouting commands, while farmers and herdsmen rehearsed shield walls with little more than hatchets and hoes. Aethelflaed took it all in, as she rode in the column, once again on her chestnut mare. She was glad to be out of the confinement of the carriage now, where the sounds and smells of the camp would have crushed in on her. Even now, riding the open air, they brought Aethelflaed immediately back to Beamfleot, and to the rush and panic of her escape for freedom with Erik. She had to measure her breath to keep from melting down at the stress of it. At least Oxenford was not on fire. Yet.

Aethelred rode beside her, and she dared to speak to him across the icy distance that parted them. “You have raised the fyrd, Lord?” He had told her nothing of his plans, nor given any warning as to what they would find in Oxenford.

“Yes,” he answered curtly.

“Is there news of Siegfried? Does he march?” She did not temper her curiosity. Her need for news outweighed her wariness of Aethelred's temper.

“It does not matter. We must be prepared either way. An attack could come at any time.” From that response, Aethelflaed gathered that there was no news of Siegfried.

“Siegfried will not march before Spring, I am sure of it.” She said the words unthinkingly, more to herself than to Aethelred. He shot her a sharp glare.

“I do not expect you to understand.”

She was undeterred by his iciness. What could he do to her here, in public, as they rode into Oxenford in view of all his thanes and the fyrd? “Is this the entirety of the Mercian fyrd?” She asked.

Aethelred laughed then, mockingly. “These men have been raised from the surrounding Shires. There are other camps, in Lyccidfeld and Wircester.” She was surprised at the generosity of his knowledge. He did not usually share any details with her.

“Then there will be many men,” she said, demurely.

“The Danes will die on our swords.”

“Lord, is it wise? To raise so many men so early in the winter?” She would suffer for her boldness, she knew. But she was starting to feel alarmed. Aethelred ignored her. She continued. “Would it not be better to let them rest the winter at their homes? When Siegfried does move on Mercia, in the spring, they will be fresher. If they winter here, they will be weary by the time war comes. And the cost of feeding them through the cold months...” she drifted off.

Aethelred did not look at her as he spoke. He directed his sharp-edged words into the empty air in front of him. “Although you are no doubt better acquainted with Siegfried than I am, I did not request your council.” She knew he hoped to shame her. Instead, she felt only a dull frustration and a reckless antipathy. _Let him destroy himself_ , she thought. _I do not care_.

They rested the evening there, and Aethelred took the time to meet with the local thanes and lords who commanded the fyrd. Aethelflaed was not welcome, of course, and was left to bide her time in the hall that Aethelred had commandeered from a local landowner upon their arrival. There were two ladies with her, women from Wintancester whom her mother had pressed to accompany her to Aegelsburgh. They were kindly enough, but rather dull and dour from a life spent in Ealhswith's court. She ached for the company of Audr, and thought often of the girl with love and worry. She had not seen her since before her escape attempt, and did not know if she had fled with Uhtred or been killed by Siegfried in revenge for Aethelflaed's rebellion. The thought of Audr crushed beneath Siegfried's sword gave Aethelflaed a surging sick cramp. The hall suddenly felt suffocating, dim and smoke-filled, and she found herself standing abruptly.

“Lady Aethelflaed?” one asked. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” she decided in the moment. “Outside.” The light still lingered in the Western sky and the air was not too cold. It would be a pleasant diversion.

And so her flustered maids were pressed to accompany her, and even the man Aethelred had left guarding the hall was cowed under Aethelflaed's resolute determination. He accompanied them, of course, scoffing and protesting under his breath all the way. But he followed.

The town was not completely dominated by fighting men. There were still markets and merchants, washerwomen and whores hawking the streets. There were even children out in the evening light, and Aethelflaed felt her heart rising slightly as she drew her wool cape close around her shoulders.

“Your husband will not like this, Lady,” the man was chiding dramatically.

“My husband does not like anything, Wulfric,” she replied. “Only himself.”

Wulfric blustered and the ladies chittered nervously behind her, but she was unfazed. Her attention had been caught by a man across the square. He was watching her keenly, expectantly. It was almost as if he recognized her. She had never seen the man before in her life.

She was mildly startled as he began to approach their group from across the square. He had a round, unremarkable face, marred by disease. But his smile seemed friendly enough. And Wulfric was there, should any trouble arise.

“Excuse me,” he said, still striding towards her, “but are you the Lady Aethelflaed?”

Wulfric grunted and shifted his body so that he stood half between the man and Aethelflaed. His hand flew to his sword handle, and the man eased back with his hands raised peacefully. He still smiled.

“Who asks?” Aethelflaed responded coolly.

The man did not respond, but shifted nervously on his feet and looked up warily at Wulfric again. Aethelflaed felt the hairs on her arms start to rise and a nervous sense of anticipation flooded her body. The man did not want to speak in front of the ladies and the guards. Did he carry a message for her? From Uhtred..or... _from Erik?_ She did not even dare to hope.

But she said, “Yes. I am the Lady Aethelflaed. I am here in Oxenford with my husband, Lord Aethelred. We are resting here before heading North, to Aegelsburgh.”

Wulfric was now looking at her as if she had grown a second head. Perhaps the man was not a messenger from a friend. But either way, it could do little harm to tell him what any spy could figure out in half a day's work.

The man was smiling again, and opened his mouth to speak, but Wulfric seemed to decide it was his duty to take charge. He unsheathed his short sword then and pointed it at the man's throat.

“Get out of here, before I cut you from ear to ear. You are not to speak to the Lady Aethelflaed again, on orders of her husband.”

“Indeed,” the man said, stepping back and bowing dramatically. “It's been a pleasure, Lady.” And then he turned and was gone.

Aethelflaed's pulse was risen was hours after the encounter, as she walked over every moment in her mind. She hoped the man would find her again, before she left Oxenford with Aethelred, and every time she was allowed out in public, she looked for him eagerly. But she did not see him again. And as they rode North the next day, towards Aegelsburgh, she resigned herself to the truth that the man was no one, and that it was only her desperation that caused her to think otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the update is well appreciated :) I'll post more chapters this weekend. In the meantime, let me know what you think :)


	6. Chapter 6

“She has returned!” Birger's face was round with excitement and his breath was short with effort. “The Lady Aethelflaed, she returns to Mercia.”

Erik jumped up and gave a short shout of shock and joy at Birger's words. The quick motion triggered a bloom of pain in his side, but he quelled it under his rising excitement. Erik had been resting in his quarters, sharpening his short sword, when the man had burst in unexpectedly. The short sword lay abandoned now, as Erik clapped Birger on the shoulder emphatically.

“You are certain, Birger? You are certain it is her?”

Birger nodded, grinning. “I spoke to her myself. She told me her name.”

“And where is she now?” Erik's heart was seized with a wild feeling – it was joy and need, grief and fear, all mingled together and all fixed on his lover, who was so close and yet still out of his reach.

“She is in Aegelsburgh, at her husband's estate.” Erik felt his mood sour and the fear rise in his chest at the mention of Aethelred.

“Tell me, Birger, was she well?”

Birger had a drawn, wary look in his eye. “She looked well enough, Lord.” Birger rarely called Erik 'Lord.' It stood out now. Erik's heart sank.

“Did she have bruises? Has she been hurt?”

“Not that I saw, Lord. But she looked a little thin...sickly, maybe? She was well enough, though. She was walking through the town.” Erik's fear eased a bit.

“And did you talk to her? Did you tell her who you serve and give her my message?”

Birger's face fell. “No. I couldn't. There were ladies and a guard with her. I couldn't risk speaking in front of them. I tried to find her again, before she left, but her husband has her well watched.”

Erik sighed and rubbed his face, letting his head fall heavily into his hands. He was pleased at Birger's news, but it brought him no closer to his goal. He still had no idea how he would outmaneuver Aethelred and so get a chance to see her, to touch her, to hold her in his arms. He ached for it.

“You've done well, Birger.” He managed a weak smile. He was grateful for the man, who had proved himself to be loyal, and clever too. He'd been gone for half a moon trying to track Aethelflaed on Erik's behalf. Erik would not give him a cold welcome now. “Come, let's drink. You must be famished and dry from your ride.”

Birger sat opposite Erik at the small table, a carelessly concealed smile on his face. “I have more news.”

“What is it?” Erik stopped pouring the ale, mid-stream.

“I did not just come home after seeing the Lady. That was over a week ago.” Erik's heart began to race again. “I tracked her husband's party home.” He took a sip from his half-filled horn, purposefully drawing out the story.

“Tell me, Birger. Tell me now!” Birger laughed.

“Well, you'll be pleased to know that I've spent the last week camped out in the woods beyond Aegelsburgh, until I stank like a wet rat. And I've watched that fortress day and night...” he took another slow sip.

“And...?”

“And the Lord Aethelred left. Yesterday. With several guards _and_ a pack horse. I reckon he'll be gone for at least a few days, don't you?”

“Ha!” Erik did shout this time, a laugh-filled cry of glee. “I could kiss you, Birger.”

“Please don't.” But Birger laughed as well. “Still, I am glad you are pleased.”

Erik was pleased. He felt like he had spent months in Bedaford, waiting, biding his time, and growing his small guard. In truth, it had only been five or six weeks. But news of Aethelflaed was as welcome as the feeling of the sea beneath him after months on land. That she was alone and unwatched by Aethelred...the thought made his belly lurch with need and anticipation.

Birger had proved a valuable friend and servant. For all his talk of fighting for silver, he was in truth a man who sought a cause. Erik had suspected as much when he saw the man save a young girl from bullies. And now Erik had given him a cause – the promise of a peaceful Mercia, held together by the union of a Saxon and a North man. Erik had trusted him with the secret of Aethelflaed, and Birger had risen to that trust. It was all built on a dream, perhaps a hopeless one, but it held Birger's heart to Erik's service, and he was thankful for that.

Erik paid the man too, of course. He had seen Birger outfitted with a good horse – a swift, gray stallion that Birger called “Arrow,” as well as a fine, sharp short sword to replace Birger's rusty seax. Erik's horde of silver was dwindling faster than he would have liked, but he had little choice. And Birger had proven a valuable investment so far.

The man was popular, to Erik's surprise. For all his plain looks, he had an easy charm and a sense of humor that drew friends easily. Birger had already coaxed several other men to join Erik's guard. Some of them were cutthroats and brigands, no doubt, but Erik trusted that the good men would reveal themselves, and the lesser among them would drift away like chaff on the wind.

He was grateful for his swelling guard when he went to meet with Cuthbert, the Saxon lord who commanded the protection of Bedaford. Cuthbert had been an enigma. He opened his hall to Erik and his men with little coaxing, but spoke sparingly, guarding himself with wary, dark rimmed eyes. When Erik had made his pitch at last, after much dry bantering, Cuthbert sat silent for a long moment.

Finally he spoke. “You think you can take all of Mercia, with an army of what...ten men?” He looked scathingly around at the men Erik had brought with him.

“I have allies in Saxon Mercia.”

“What allies?” Cuthbert was sharp-eyed now.

“I cannot say.” Cuthbert loosed a humorless laugh and looked away. “But with their help, I may command the entire fyrd of Mercia in time.”

“So you would overthrow the Saxon lord. Aethrelred.” It was not a question. Erik swallowed. He had little hope of gaining any allies if he could not even tell them the truth of his plan.

“I would.” Cuthbert nodded at his response. Erik had the feeling that the man respected his honesty.

“And you would have my help in doing it.”

“I would have your help in uniting Mercia, in creating a proper shire out of this border town.”

Cuthbert smiled wanly. “There is business in border towns.”

Erik laughed. “Lost business, surely. I've heard that you have no Reeve, no formal system of tithing, no way even to know how much is owed to you. How do you outfit your men?”

Cuthbert's face was grim in the low light. “We make do.”

“And you could do better, with the help of a strongly held peace. _My_ strongly held peace.”

Cuthbert stared at him again for a long breath. “I might be inclined to join you. But I can promise nothing until I know of your Saxon allies. Until then, you are a ghost, Erik Thurgilson. Even if you have come back from the dead once already.”

And so they had parted, on uneasy terms. Would Cuthbert betray Erik to Siegfried? Or to the Danish lords of the boroughs to the North? Erik could not say. He could not even say for certain whether his story was true. It depended entirely on Aethelflaed, and he had no way of knowing what she truly wanted. But he remembered her face as she had lain in his arms, how she had spoke of her fate with doubt and determination. Perhaps she would want to claim Mercia with him. Perhaps she would want to rule by his side. Sometimes he felt that he had little care for the power. It was only Aethelflaed he truly wanted. But if he had to, he would bring down a kingdom to have her.

And so now he spoke to Audr of his seedling plan, Cuthbert far from his mind.

“You will go to Aegelsburgh, with Birger. You can both pass as Saxons if you speak in English.”

“Yes, Lord.” Audr was excited to see Aethelflaed too, he knew. The pleasure of planning their reunion was a flush on her face. “And we will enter the fortress? Will they not bar our passage?”

“We are not at war yet, Audr.” The girl had spent too long in a Danish fortress. “The guard at Aegelsburgh will not bar harmless travelers looking for shelter and work.” He thought for a moment. “You could pretend to be a young couple – you and Birger. They will not see a threat.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Are you? A couple?” He hazarded awkwardly. He had no idea what the girl did when she flitted away from their quarters.

She made a face. “No, Lord.”

Erik laughed. “But you feel comfortable, going with him alone? You trust him?”

“Do you, Lord?”

Erik paused. “Yes.” It was the truth. “I do.”

“I trust him too, Lord.”

“You know, Audr, you do not have to call me Lord so much. It's not as if you haven't sponged sick from my chest when I was not able to hold my head up. I do not mind dispensing with formality.”

“No, Lord. You are right, Lord.”

Erik's mind stuttered, then he laughed. “Ooooh, I see now. You are teasing me.”

“Perhaps, Lord.” But she grinned mischievously back at him, and he felt his heart pang with love for this strange and clever girl who had become his friend. He would be dead without her, he knew. And now, she would bring Aethelflaed to him. His blood sang with the promise of it.

“You know what you must do. I won't be far behind you. You have it all to memory?”

“Yes, Lo-” She paused and grinned. “Yes.”


	7. Chapter 7

Aegelsburgh was just as Aethelflaed remembered, and utterly different at the same time. Perhaps it was she who was different. The wide, light filled hall was filled with the finery of Mercian craftmanship, and the bustle of slaves and servants all bent to their work of making Aethelred and Aethelflaed as comfortable as possible. She should have been comfortable, but instead the place felt stale and stagnant, as though it was trapped in amber, unchanging and unmoving. Aethelflaed felt herself drawn to walk the yard and wander unannounced through the kitchens, to the constant chagrin of the mistress cook. She sat often in the orchard, among the dormant bee skeps and the barren boughs of Apple trees. The orchard was a place of death and decay now, as the land approached the longest night. But at least it breathed.

She was not allowed to leave the walls of the burgh, not without Aethelred's permission, and Aethelred never gave his permission. His guards manned all the gates. It was as much of a prison as Beamfleot had been. At Aegelsburgh she was surrounded by people, but she remained utterly alone.

The hope of the man who had approached her in Oxenford had faded, just as the last apples withered and dropped from the branch. Now she was lost in her hopelessness. She spun constantly to numb her boredom, her fingers stiff with lack of practice, and the uneven pale wool yarn spooled and pooled around uselessly. The priest Halig harried her whenever he was able to catch her, and she did spend some hours in the small stone-and-thatch chapel of the estate, praying dutifully into the dull air. But it felt more and more like an empty gesture, a performance of some ritual that she did not truly understand anymore. Her faith had always been strong but untested, buoyed by the unwavering devotion of her parents, an unquestioned thing that was simply a fact of life. But now she felt it waver and slacken, a weak unanchored rope leaving her adrift in the wide sea of the world. Aethelred was not as pious of a man as her father, and so he did not fill each moment of their lives with praying and the preaching of priests. Even in her lonely despair, Aethelflaed found herself glad for that. It was only thing she was glad for, in Aethelred's home.

She had had a life at Aegelsburgh, once, she remembered. It had been a thin and sorry thing, shadowed always by the threat of her husband's cruelty. But she had thought herself a lady, she had trusted in the love and care of the people who served her, she had believed herself worthy of their protection. Now all she saw was a sea of Aethelred's spies, ready to poison her at the turn of a silver penny. She could trust no one. The only relief was that Aethelred did not share her bed. And so she slept alone and unviolated, and the memory of Erik's warm body still pressed within her.

A week after they arrived from Oxenford, Aethelred left. He did not tell her he was going, or where he was going, or how long he would be gone for. He did not even speak to her at all. She merely woke one morning to find that he was gone, and she could get nothing out of Wulfric, who had been left in charge of the household guard. Wulfric did not trust her, and in truth, she doubted that he even knew. _The blind leading the blind_ , she thought. _Aethelred will get us all killed_. But the thought of death did not scare her anymore.

Still, the fortress remained well-guarded, stuck like a fixed star that never changes as the sky whorls around it. And so Aethelflaed was surprised when Hilda, the kitchen mistress, found her in the hall over her mid-morning meal, two days after Aethelred had left. Hilda was frustrated and slightly flustered as she approached, and Aethelflaed beckoned without reproach.

“What is it, Hilda?” She liked the woman, even if she could not trust her. She was smart and capable. She could command men as easily as women and court no protest. Aethelflaed thought she could learn a thing or two from Hilda. But now the woman was disturbed by something, and it set Aethelflaed's nerves on edge.

“Good morning, Lady. I am sorry to disturb your meal.”

“There is no disruption. What bothers you?”

Hilda sighed, as if impatient with the ordeal. “There are two people here to see you. A young couple.”

“Saxons?” Aethelflaed asked. Hilda gave her a sharp look, as if to say _Who else?_

 _“_ I believe so, Lady.” _A young Saxon couple._ Aethelflaed's hopes were dashed as quickly as they had been risen. What could a young Saxon couple have to do with Erik, or Uhtred? And why was Hilda telling her about them?

“What do they want, Hilda? Did they say?”

Hilda sighed and stamped her foot impatiently again. “They come looking for shelter and work. The man is a fighter and his woman a kitchen maid.”

“So? Have you taken them into the household?” Did Hilda need her permission? She felt like a foolish child, uncertain of the means of her own household. Aethelred stripped even that power from her.

“I have no need of a kitchen maid!” Hilda's voice held open frustration now. “But they insist on seeing you personally. I cannot deny them.”

“Of course, Hilda. I will see them in here.” And she stood and brushed the crumbs from her dress and moved to meet her guests. There was a shaky feeling in her body that she could not understand. They were nobody, that much was clear. But she could not help the small bubble that rose within her as she awaited them.

She did not even acknowledge the shape of her helpless hope until she saw the face of the man. It was not Erik. Of course it was not, and could never be. Erik would never be confused for a Saxon. But then something pricked at her awareness, and she realized she knew the man. It was the man who had stopped her in the square in Oxenford. Her body thrummed with an unexpected anticipation.

And then she saw the woman.

“You may leave us, Hilda.” The words were level, contained, unemotional. It took all the control that Aethelflaed could muster. Hilda shot her a confused look and parted, leaving them alone in the hall.

And then Aethelflaed released a shuddering breath, and Audr ran to embrace her.

The women held each other for a long moment, unspeaking, before Aethelflaed finally gasped her breath back into her chest. “Audr. Audr! You are here. You are truly here!”

“Yes, Lady, I am here.”

“You are alive, you are well! I worried for you, Audr.” She did not realize she was weeping until she saw the tears mirrored on Audr's own round face. And then Aethelflaed felt the lurch of realization, and it rushed into her throat like bile as her stomach folded in on itself.

“Erik -” she gasped. She could say no more.

“He lives. He lives and he waits for you, Aethelflaed. We have come to find you. We have all come to find you.”

Aethelflaed felt very far away from her body, as if she were floating above herself. Yet she still felt the wrenching rock of released grief as her body shuddered and sobbed out all her hopeless pain. She might have worried for her decorum, for how she looked in front of Audr and the mysterious man whose name she still did not know. But she could do nothing but sob helplessly, and hope it was not too loud.

“Lady... Lady?” Audr was concerned. Aethelflaed gasped, trying to control herself. “Are you not pleased?”

She laughed then, a wretched wet thing, and the feeling surged back into her chest. “I thought he was dead, Audr. I thought you were dead. I thought we were all lost.” And the tears rocked her again.

“Uhtred – he did not find you? He did not bring you a message of our welfare?”

“No.” Aethelflaed's voice was bitter. “I have heard nothing. Nothing until now.” Audr looked at her with something akin to pity. “Tell me, Audr. Where is he? His wound –”

“He is well, Lady. He is still healing, but he will not die from it, I am certain. He waits for you.” Audr looked around warily as she said it, as if worried they might be overheard. Aethelflaed's joy ruptured from her. She could not contain it, nor constrain it to wariness.

“Audr, dear, beloved Audr! I lost your knife, I am so sorry. You gave it to me and I lost it.” She babbled now, somewhere between laughing and weeping. The man was looking at her as if she were mad, but Audr only smiled.

“I have found another. All is well.”

Aethelflaed breathed out shakily and felt the tears leave her. “And you will stay? You will stay here with me?”

“If you wish it. That is the Lord Erik's command.”

At Aethelflaed's command, they joined the household, Audr and Birger – for that was his name, as she soon learned. She knew Hilda suspected some conspiracy, but Wulfric seemed pleased enough with Birger's skill with the short sword and agreed to keep him as a household guard. Aethelflaed coordinated it with all the steely grace she could muster, but all the while her body buzzed frantically as if drunk on her own joy and anticipation. She could not calm her mind for thoughts of Erik – his face, his warm body, his low-throated laugh and tender eyes, his hands, broad and rough on her skin, her lover, alive, alive, _alive._ If she thought of it too much, she would weep again with the wild impossibility of it. The desperate need of him swelled around her, so that every moment felt like a trial, knowing he lived and not having him beside her.

But she passed the day, and Audr whispered the plan to her as they stole a private moment together.

“There is a settlement South-East of here,” the girl said. “Little more than a cluster of trapper's huts at the edge of the wood.”

“I know it!” Aethelflaed surprised herself. “We passed through it once, Aethelred and I, avoiding brigands on the road. It's an hour's walk?”

Audr nodded. “Erik waits for you there. He does not dare approach Aegelsburg. He did not even ride with Birger and me, in case we were spotted. He does not want to risk any suspicion falling on you.” To hear Audr speaking of him, living and breathing, thinking and dreaming, her blue eyed lover, real and true – it set Aethelflaed's head spinning. Audr was still speaking. “But you must sneak out of the fortress unseen tonight. Can you do that?”

Aethelflaed nodded. In truth, she did not know. But she would do it anyway, by the sheer force of her love and her need.


	8. Chapter 8

Darkness fell early. The moon was dying, so the night came without light, although torches still flared in the yard and along the ramparts. Aethelflaed waited for the house to settle, retiring to her chamber early and sending her maids away. When all seemed quiet around her, she stole from the hall with a dusk-gray cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders and hair and flitted out into the yard. Servants still bustled in the kitchens, but she was unnoticed in the dim light as she made her way to the orchard. She knew, from all the her idle hours spent under Apple boughs, that a small stream entered the orchard from the North, and that the wooden walls of the fortress had been built with an arch to allow for the stream to pass under them. It was little more than a trickle, and the arch was barely big enough to fit a man. But Aethelflaed was not a man.

The water ran slow and sluggish in the cold night air, fringed by rocks and frozen sod. With a breath, Aethelflaed dropped to her hands and knees and shimmied her body through the small opening. She braced herself against the side of the small stream, but her feet and cloak still dragged through the water as she pushed herself through the opening. The coldness pulled and pricked at her skin, but she could spare little thought for it. The opening of the arch was in the wall between two gates, and so there were less guards than there might have been. But one man still walked the ramparts above where Aethelflaed hid, wet and shivering in the night. The light cast by his torch flickered down, kissing the frozen grass beyond the walls. Aethelflaed waited, trying not to let the cold seep into her bones as she held herself still and silent. After several long moments, the man must have turned, for the light was dimmed, and she heard the distant noise of a muffled conversation.

She did not think. She took her chance and ran, quietly on her leather clad feet, her cloak a shadow around her. When she reached the clump of trees on the far North edge of the field, she looked back, gasping and shuddering with effort. No alarm was raised. She had not been seen. And so she turned South-East, edging her way through the trees, and began the long, cold trek to Erik. As she walked, the moon began to rise, lighting her way back to her love with silver softness.

Erik's heart was a lump in his throat. He had been in the settlement they called Rangely for a half a day already. He had bribed a man, a poor trapper, for the use of his hut and the favor of his discretion. He had set Dagfinn out to scout for anyone approaching, and set himself up outside the doorway of the hut, the hide pulled tight across the opening to hold in the meager heat of the fire. Now all he could was wait.

He felt strangely nervous, and could not say why. But the questions raced through his mind and his doubts spoke loudly. What if Aethelflaed did not come? What if she could not come, or simply did not wish to see him? It had been two moons since they had held each other in the doorway of her chamber at Beamfleot, since they had tried and failed to fight their way out together. But it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. She was a mystery in the darkness, a wayward planet in the night. He could only pray that her arc led back to him.

And so his heart leapt and his body trembled with anticipation as he watched the figures approaching across the dark, empty square between the trapper's cottages. Dagfinn led, and a small cloaked figure hurried behind. He drew the hide back, even as his breath came short and hot in his throat. And then she was there beside him. _Aethelflaed_.

He pulled her inside, into the modest warmth, and her hood fell off her head, revealing her pale face and her wide eyes in the fire light. He could do nothing but look at her for a long moment. She looked different. She was thinner, with hollows in her cheeks and dark smudges around her eyes. She did not look sick so much as worn....tired...and so very cold. He held her to him then, and she collapsed into his arms with a weak cry. Her thin body shivered against him, her face was ice beside his neck. But she said his name as she pressed herself close. “Erik....oh, Erik...” and he felt his heart sing with it.

She pulled back from him, and he saw that her face was wet. He realized he was weeping too, quiet tears sliding down his cheeks and into his beard. He did not kiss her, he could do little but drink in the sight of her and smooth her face with his hands. “Aethelflaed..”

“I thought you were dead, Erik!” Her voice was wretched with desperate grief, and he felt it echoed in his own chest. “I thought you were dead and we were lost, Erik. I...”

“I swore to you, Lady.” He laughed wetly. “I would not let you go.”

“I looked for Uhtred, I waited for him,” the story rushed from her now. “I thought he would bring news and he did not and so I thought you were dead.” And she gave a small cry then and fell against him. Her hair was covered with a veil, but he slipped it off gently and smoothed her hair down with his hands.

“I am here now,” he whispered against her. “We are together now. All will be well.”

Erik was as she remembered, and not as she remembered. It was strange how the distance and time stretched her memories, so that she had to relearn the exact shape of his face, the sound of his voice, which had become warped in her memory. His Northern accent was more noticeable than she remembered – it felt like a long time since she had been surrounded by Northmen – and the lilting sound of it brought a flush of pleasure to her chest. His hair was different too – it was still short on the sides and back, but it was growing in, concealing the tattoos above his ears. His tail had been cut so that the hair on the top of his head fell forward, brushing across his eyes. His beard too, had been trimmed and lay close to his face, unadorned. But his eyes were the same, blue-gray and deep with tenderness, his smile still a beacon of gentle warmth. He was still as handsome as she remembered, if not more. He was still Erik, and he lived and breathed.

They sat now, huddled close to the small fire Erik had built. There was a warm broth simmering on the flame, and Erik scooped some into his hand hewn wooden cup for her, to cut back the cold from her body. He looked at her worriedly as she sat shivering. The chill had sunk deep into her bones on the long walk to the village, and she could no longer feel her feet, which had frozen with the wetness of the stream. She eased off her shoes and held her stockinged feet close to the fire. They burned and tingled with the sharp warmth.

“You came alone?” Erik was sitting next to her, on a small stool and looking at her with deep intent in his eyes. “I commanded Birger to accompany you.”

She smiled. “And I commanded Birger to stay with Audr. I was safe enough on the walk.”

“You are half-frozen on your feet.” Erik's voice was taut.

“I had to crawl through a stream to get out of the fortress,” she admitted. “Birger would never have fit through the opening.” Erik's face creased with worry, but Aethelflaed smiled at him, and he returned it with gentle warmth. Her heart fluttered, as it always had in the warmth of Erik's smile.

“So you have already made my man your own. That was quick. I am impressed.” He laughed as he said it.

“I thought perhaps he was _our_ man.”

Erik looked pleased. “I suppose he is.” Erik cut an apple as he spoke and handed slices to Aethelflaed wordlessly. They were cold but the sharp sweetness was welcome, and they served to freshen her mouth. She thought of her mouth now, and of Erik's, as his hand brushed against hers and lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“Your wound!” she exclaimed, remembering suddenly. Erik's hand retreated. “How is it? Is the pain great?”

He smiled tensely. “It is healing slowly. I can lift a sword now and ride without too much discomfort. I think it will be several more weeks before I can wield a blade in combat.” He sounded worried and frustrated. It must have been a great and shaming hindrance for him, a warrior unable to wield a sword. “And you?” His face filled with an unspoken question. “You have not been harmed? Aethelred--”

“Aethelred has not touched me since I was released.” She spoke into her bowl of broth, feeling a flush of shame at Erik's question. “He sleeps away from me and barely speaks to me. I think he fears I will gut him in his sleep.” She laughed as she said it, trying to dispel the tension of the moment.

Erik growled with pleasure. “He should.” His voice grew low and dark again. “And Siegfried? After...after you were retaken...?”

“He left me to rot.” She gave a weak laugh. “But otherwise I was unharmed.” She looked back to meet his eyes and there was an inscrutable expression within them.

“I am sorry, Aethelflaed.” His voice was controlled, but there was a deep well of emotion surging in his face. “I am sorry that I left you --”

“Erik – I...I would not have wanted you to die for me.” Her voice came thick. “I thought you had and it...” She drifted off, unable to finish her thought. “I am glad that you left me. I am glad that you are here now.”

They looked at each other then, across the distance that spanned them, their eyes locked and intense. There was a strange shyness between them, after so long apart. The intimacy was still present, but it was untested, taut and expectant. Now it started to bloom, and an aching need flushed through Aethelflaed's body. She swallowed and placed her mug of broth down beside the fire. Erik caught her hand again, and this time he did not let go, but traced small circles in her palm with his thumb.

“Aethelflaed...” he said softly. “I have ached for you.” His words were like small birds that winged across the space between them and nested, fluttering, in her gut. She stood and walked to him slowly, and lowered herself so that she rested on his lap. He sighed deeply and looked up at her with wide, needful eyes. He had pulled off her veil when she first came in, and now his hands moved to unwind her simple braids, so that her hair fell and billowed loosely around her shoulders.

She kissed him then, and his mouth tasted of apples and ale. His hands moved to clasp her face and he deepened the kiss. His body was a soft anchor beneath her, his arms a welcome shelter. She ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest, the tops of his arms, marveling in the solid realness of him. She had not realized how much he had become a ghost in her mind. But he lived.

The kiss was slow, intentional, held together by a deep dragging need. But they were not yet roused to wild desire. Aethelflaed had to surface from it, to avoid becoming lost. Erik's hand circled and clasped her throat gently, and the touch sent warm shoots of pleasure down into her chest. The touch of his eyes on her was like a kiss in itself, so full were they of love and desire. She felt the warm tingle of his regard, the ache of it in her belly and groin.

“Erik...” She had no words to express her need, but she traced the lines of his face as she spoke.

“I have something for you, Lady.” He looked shy, almost nervous. He turned quickly, not releasing Aethelflaed from his lap, a cringe of pain on his face at the movement. He reached into a sack that rested at the side of his stool and brought out a sheathed blade. “It is custom...in my homeland.” He was nervous, she was sure of it now. He looked down at the blade and did not meet her eyes. “A wedding custom, to gift your bride with an ancestral blade.” He swallowed, and Aethelflaed understood his nervousness then.

“It is beautiful,” she said, and it was. The hilt and pommel were made of horn inlaid with fine silver filigree in swirling patterns. The carved wood of the scabbard was seasoned and smoothed with use and age to a dark brown luster. Erik removed the sheath, revealing the blade, which was long and slightly flared, single edged, and finely sharpened to a point. Aethelflaed resheathed it carefully, conscious of how close she sat to Erik's body.

“The blade is called Bjartr Blotha*...it is 'Bright in Blood.' Not the blood of the slain,” he added quickly. “But the blood of my people. The blood of my family. It came from my mother.”

Aethelflaed looked again at the blade, a swelling feeling in her chest. “Is this the blade you gave your wife, when you were bound before?” She was not jealous, only curious.

Erik looked away. “No. No, Tófa received another blade.”

“Tófa.” She held the name close, and it felt right to speak it at that moment, to give name to the woman who had come before her.

Erik was looking at her intensely. “I have carried this blade with me from Norroway. It is yours now.”

“You have killed Saxons with this blade,” Aethelflaed said wryly.

“It is all I have to give.” There was a pleading note in his voice. Aethelflaed smiled and smoothed his face with her hand.

“And I have nothing to give in return.”

Erik shook his head. “It is enough that you are here. That you have returned to me.” And he kissed her with his delicate fierceness and set her head swimming.

“Is it done, then? The ritual?' She asked, as she surfaced.

Erik laughed. “No. No...there are many more parts to the ritual. But I think, it should suffice.” He traced the skin of her throat with his warm, rough fingers, and she could not help moaning at the touch. “I know...I know I cannot claim you in the eyes of your Church, and your Law. Not while Aethelred lives. But I thought...if I could bind us in the eyes of my Gods...it might mean something.” His voice was becoming breathless, and she felt his lust rising, the air thickening between them.

“It does,” she gasped the words, as he kissed her tenderly on her neck. “It means --”

“It means you carry my blood now, Aethelflaed.” His hands circled her waist and pulled her close, so that her hips pressed and rocked against his own. “You are part of my people now, too.” Aethelflaed could not resist the pull of his body any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *believe it or not, I do not actually speak Old Norse. The grammar here might be totally wrong. If anyone does know Old Norse grammar, I would love to know the proper inflections for this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: explicit erotic content, rough sex

Erik was caught in the tide of his lust, his body the sea and Aethelflaed the moon. He could not hold himself from her any longer. He had felt the tension, the slight distance, the shyness that spread between them after she had arrived. But now it was dissipating, cut with need and long held longing, and they surged towards each other.

Her body was shrouded in thick, wool layers, but he craved the contact of her skin. His hands plumbed under her clothes, finding the smoothness of her thighs. She gasped as he touched her, and the sound rocked through him. His cock was stiff and pulsing.

“I cannot seem to have you anywhere but hovels and dirty hills. You deserve more, Aethelflaed.” She rocked against him as he spoke, and the motion pulled the breath from his chest.

“But you will have me?” Her eyes were half-lidded and her mouth was open as she looked at him. He took it with his own, kissing her deeply two..three times.

“I would have you anywhere.” He remembered plowing her against the stone wall in the woods before they had re-entered the fortress on their first true night together. The thought of it roused him so much that he stood, unthinking, hoping to pick her up and carry her....and then the pain twisted at him and he cried out, dropping her from his arms. He bent over, reeling and gasping.

“Your wound!” Her voice was thick with worry. “My love, are you okay?” She was flustered and rumpled, her hair askew and her mantle discarded, and the sight of her was irresistible. He staggered towards her, cringing, hoping to hold her again, hoping to press his need against her soft body. She took his hands, her eyes wide, and stopped him. “Erik. You must be careful. There is no rush. We will have each other.” She smiled and led him gently towards the mat of furs and hides that lay in the corner. Erik had already checked it for lice and fleas, and it seemed clean enough. The cold kept down the animal smell, and the furs were soft as Aethelflaed lowered him onto them.

He sat, still slightly stupefied from the pain, as Aethelflaed pulled his tunic gently over his head. She gasped at the sight of his scar, still red and puckered, a searing slash across his side. She pushed him down slowly, and he let himself collapse backwards with a sigh and a grunt of pain. He still craved the feeling of her body in his hands, and reached up to touch her as she leaned over him. But she pushed his hands away, pinning them down behind him as she climbed onto his waist, straddling him.

A pulse of pleasure shot through his body as he understood her intent. She was kissing him now, slowly and gently, on his neck and his chest, her fingers tracing the outline of his wound with all the fluttering delicacy of moth's wings. For such a light touch, it loosed a spell of desperate need into his flesh.

“Aethelflaed...” He tried to sit up, to hold her and pull her down onto him, but she always pushed him back, holding him down as she writhed and rocked on top of him. He was gasping with desire now, arching his body closer to hers, but still she held control. She kissed down the planes of his abdomen, dragging her fingers lightly along his sides, till her hands came to the lacings of his buckskin trues and held the swelling beneath them.

Erik groaned and writhed as she unlaced them slowly, and took him in her hands. She touched and caressed him so softly, so gently, and the softness of it unleashed a madness within him. He was naked and stretched out, his need risen in the air, and she was still swaddled in gowns, calm and methodical, as she touched him and stared into his desperate face.

In the end, he knew what it was to beg for his pleasure.

“Aethelflaed...” Erik lay beside her in the furs, his body covered in his cloak, but his arms pressed around her. She was still clothed, her thick gown billowing around her legs and her thighs wet with Erik's seed. He had loosed himself within her quickly, and she had felt the pleasure of his pulsing inside of her. She had not lost herself in it, as she had before, but felt a sense of satisfaction nonetheless, knowing that he had been sated by her body.

“Aethelflaed,” he said again, and she responded with a nuzzled kiss against his warm neck. “I have never been used like that, Aethelflaed.”

She laughed warmly, remembering his face wrought with need as she had held him down, as he had begged for her body. The thought of it alone filled her with a tingling glow.

“Did I misuse you?”

“No.” His voice came quick and huskily. “No, I enjoyed it.” And he pressed her closer against him. “You surprise me, Lady.” He said the words into her hair, and she stiffened slightly, pulling away.

“I am not so experienced.” A cold shame was rising in her chest.

Erik smoothed her face, his eyes wide and guileless. “I did not mean that, aelska. I only meant...you fill me with pleasure.” He kissed her slowly, pressing out her shame.

“Aelska?”

“Ah...I did not even notice. You have made me relaxed.” He smiled against her mouth. “It is 'love' in the Norse tongue. My lover. The one who brings me joy.”

She relaxed against him. The cold was finally started to leave her, as she huddled against the warmth of his body, and the clothes between them started to feel like a hindrance. She wanted his skin against her own.

“I learned it from you, I think.” She was shy, speaking about their love in this way. But the shyness brought its own pleasure too. “How you took control of my body when we...loved before. And it did not make me afraid. I....liked it. I thought...you might like it too.” Erik's body had tensed against her as she spoke and now he pulled away to look at her, his hand circling her throat, his thumb brushing her lips.

“I did, aelska. I liked it.” He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes deep and unreadable. Then, with a flurry of movement, he shifted on top of her and straddled her, pinning her down with his hips. His face was wrought with pain for a moment, but it passed quickly. Aethelflaed gasped and squirmed at his control, but he held her firm, and his eyes flashed with pleasure.

She did not understand why it roused her so much. Aethelred had only ever used her with rough control, and she had never taken any pleasure from it. But it was different with Erik – she could surrender into the trust of his love and care. And in that safety, his rough claiming did not fill her with pain or fear. Only desire.

Erik held her down now, one arm gently pinning her throat, the other pressing down on her arm.

“Would you have me again, Lady?” He rocked his pelvis against her as he said it, and she squirmed and moaned.

“Yes,” she gasped. His hands released her for a moment, and he slipped them underneath her gown, pulling it over her head so that she lay bare and naked beneath him. The cold air danced across her skin, raising goose bumps and hardening her nipples. She tried to struggle up, to close the distance between them and steal back some of Erik's warmth, but he held her down firmly, his hand back around her throat. She could feel his hardness against her as he looked into her eyes for a long moment. Perhaps he was looking for a sign of fear, or displeasure. But Aethelflaed knew her face swam only with need. So in a breath, he mounted her, and pushed inside of her, rough and deep.

She cried out as he entered her, but she was wet and loose from their first loving, and he sunk deeply inside of her with little pain. It was rough and ragged, as he pushed hard and fast within her, but there was the burning pleasure too, the swell of need that threatened to burst and consume her. Erik did not stop, only grunted and groaned as he plowed her fiercely, claiming back control, claiming back her body for himself. His face was creased with effort, and the sight of it in the dim light made her gasp and groan in return. He was beautiful, and she was his.

She was moaning now, a loose, ragged scream that came from her with every rock and surge of Erik's cock within her. He leaned over her, his hands still pressing her body down against the furs, and spoke hoarsely in her ear.

“Are you well, Lady?” She could not speak, she could not respond, her voice was lost in the sharp-edged pleasure of Erik within her. But his hand still circled her throat, and his thumb still brushed against her lips. She opened her mouth and took his thumb within it, biting first, then kissing and sucking as he pushed it deeper in. His eyes went round with excitement, and he leaned closer to brush his lips against her cheek, to bite the skin of her throat in return. He did not stop plowing her as he spoke. “Would you take me...like this? Would you take my cock?” And he brushed his thumb around the inside of her lips, tracing her mouth, as if to show what he meant.

Aethelflaed knew what he meant. A searing flame of need had ripped through her at his coarse words, spoken so easily in their rough intimacy. The thought of taking his cock in her mouth roused her desperately, making her squirm and moan.

She spoke without thinking. “Yes. Erik, yes.”

Erik loosed a small cry of pleasure at her words, and rocked into her with even more speed and depth. _Would he take her mouth now?_ She wondered and her stomach twisted with anticipation. But perhaps the thought of it was enough for him, for soon he was crying out and pushing into her, pulsing and loosing himself. The rhythm of it triggered Aethelflaed's own body to rise and flush, and she cried out beneath him as he collapsed, breathless and shaking, against her chest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: erotic content continues...

They stayed that way for a long time, held against each other, Erik still within her. His heart thrummed raggedly against her chest, his body a warm cloak of protection around her. In time he stirred and raised himself, burying his mouth against her chest, kissing her breasts, nuzzling the soft skin of her thighs. He even parted her legs for a moment, and kissed the soft cleft of her mound, making her gasp. His face seemed to burn with the shy pleasure of what they had shared, the words that had been spoken, the love that had been claimed. His hands brushed her belly as he looked down at her.

“If we do not slow down, I will put a babe inside of you.” He smiled as said it, and Aethelflaed flushed with pleasure at the words. _A babe_. _Erik's babe_. But then the blow swung towards them, shattering their small bubble of hope. Erik's face fell and he gave a strangled cry of grief. “But if --- if Aethelred...”

Aethelflaed looked away bitterly. “He would know it was not his. There would be no way. Not unless -”

“No, Aethelflaed. No.” Erik was braced over her, his hands around her face, his eyes swimming with fear. “You cannot go to his bed.”

Aethelflaed sighed as she looked into his face. Erik's love was not cruel and jealous like Aethelred's, but it was a claiming love nonetheless. He wished to possess her body and soul, and would not share her, not even to protect them both. In truth, she did not mind his claiming. She had no desire to go to Aethelred's bed.

“No. I cannot.” She agreed. “So then we must pray you do not get me with child.”

Erik collapsed next to her, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. “I do not wish to pray for that. I wish to see you round with my child, with _our_ child.”

“Truly?” Aethelflaed's voice was small and tender. She felt small and tender in that moment. Erik looked at her intently. “Yes.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I will kill Aethelred. I must. It is the only way that I can truly have you.”

Aethelflaed was silent for a long moment, as Erik stared at her. “It is true, Aethelred must die.” Erik let out a sigh of relief. “But we cannot kill him yet, Erik. If he dies now...” she drifted off, thinking of her miserable, powerless existence at Aegelsburgh. “I have no allies, I have no power in Mercia. I will be caught under the heels of the Mercian noblemen, sent back to my father or claimed by another man who would use me for my name.” She thought of the tender sweetness of their love just moments before, how they had pleasured each other's bodies and spared no thought for politics. Now the outside world had crept in beneath the door hide, and Aethelflaed felt the cold fear of it seep back into her.

“Then we will escape,” Erik said. “As we planned. We will run away together. I have men and horses. We could go anywhere.”

Aethelflaed curled away from him, her body caving in on itself. “Erik...I cannot.” A sick feeling rose to her throat along with words. She did not look at Erik, but she felt his steely silence, the tension in his body.

“You do not want me?” His voice was low and very quiet. “Are you...are you no longer mine, Aethelflaed?” He concealed the grief in his voice, but she heard it nonetheless, and it ripped into her. She turned quickly and burrowed against him.

“I am yours, Erik. Always. I want no one else.” He sighed and relaxed, winding his arms around her to hold her close against him.

“What is it, aelska? Once you told me what you dreamed...that you dreamt to escape with me. And it changed my life. It changed my entire world.” Aethelflaed felt tears rise to her eyes and blinked them back fiercely. “Tell me what you dream now.”

There was such safety in his arms, in his voice, so that she spoke in a rush, without fear or shame. “I cannot leave Mercia, Erik.” She said with a breath. “I know it, as strongly as I know that the sun will rise on the Eastern horizon tomorrow and that spring will come soon enough. It is my fate, I think, to rule in Mercia.” It was the kind of dream that a man like Aethelred would have laughed at, but Erik was silent and thoughtful as he held her against him. She raised her head, bracing herself so that she could look into his face as she spoke. “When I thought you were dead, I...I figured perhaps it was my fate....to be Aethelred's wife. But you have returned to me...and I...” she looked away, suddenly shy. “I would rule Mercia with you. Saxon and Norse together. Our child...could unite all of Mercia, perhaps.”

She had not known the shape of her dream, not truly. She had only just learned that Erik lived, and spent her day in fevered anticipation and grief-strewn hope. Since they had been together, she had thought of little except the closeness of his body, the gentle safety of his company, the sweet joy of their reunion. But now that she spoke, the idea seemed formed in her head, as though it were a seed that had sprouted in the dark of the night and emerged full grown in the morning light. As though it had always been there, waiting to be found.

Aethelflaed looked at Erik, suddenly worried. He had not spoken. “You think me a fool,” she said simply, turning away. But he held her and smiled, and his face was filled with an unspoken mirth.

“I do not think you are a fool.” He pulled her down and kissed her once on her mouth. “Aethelflaed – that has been my dream, too.”

She laughed with surprise. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “I would run away with you in a moment, Aethelflaed. I would take you and claim you for my own, and never look back, if that is what you wanted. But I would rule beside you, too. I will rule beside you, if you wish it.”

Aethelflaed felt a surge of reckless hope flood from her heart. “I do, Erik. That is what I wish.”

“That is good.” He pulled her close against him again, so that her head nestled into his uninjured shoulder. “Because I have already been speaking to Lords in Danish Mercia, trying to rally them to my cause...to our cause.”

Aethelflaed laughed again. “You did not think to tell me that first?”

“It slipped my mind. I was...struck. By other...more pressing concerns.” He smoothed his hand over her body as he spoke, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples with his thumb. She gasped and laughed at his touch.

“And have you had success?” His hands were distracting, but her mind was consumed with their nascent plan.

Erik sighed and moved to take his hand away, but she grabbed it and brought it back to circle her waist. “Not much, I admit.” He said with a small smile. “No one will join me without knowing who my allies are in Saxon Mercia. I would have to divulge our relationship, and your desire to turn against Aethelred. I would not risk it. Not until our position is stronger.”

Aethelflaed's brow furrowed. “But then...we cannot strengthen our position if no one knows of our alliance. The hen cannot have a cock until she lays a fertile egg, and she cannot lay a fertile egg until she has a cock.” Erik laughed openly and Aethelflaed blushed. “It is something my father used to say.”

“That is a strange saying.” He chuckled again. “But it is true. We are in a tight position. And my silver horde dwindles by the day.”

“I have silver,” Aethelflaed said, excitedly. “From my Mercian estates. And my bride-price.”

“I cannot take your silver, Aethelflaed.” Erik's voice was firm. “I cannot take your silver to pay my men.”

“You will take my silver to pay _my_ men. It is only fair.” She was firm as well. “I need more guards that I can trust at Aegelsburgh. The household is all in service to Aethelred. I need to take back control of my own home before I can begin to consider claiming all of Mercia. You will find me trustworthy men, and I will pay you for their service as well as your own.”

Erik was looking at her with something between amusement and respect. Did he think she was a fool, playing at commander?

“You are my ally.” She continued. “Nothing more. Is that not a fair and responsible business arrangement, between allies?”

Erik growled slightly as she spoke, and turned so that they faced each other, side by side on the furs. “Nothing more? Are you certain, Lady?” His hand came up to stroke her throat, and his thumb traced the curve of her lips. His eyes were deep as he stared at her mouth, as if remembering their last loving and the words they had spoken then. Aethelflaed flushed.

“Well, I suppose that's not quite true. But no one has to know that....not yet.” She kissed his thumb, then bit it gently, and he growled again with pleasure. She took his hand in her own and drew it down to the wetness of her slit. He lurched with excitement as his fingers slipped inside of her, his thumb tracing small circles in the soft folds of her, making her gasp and groan. He did not stop to sate his own need, but merely watched her face as he touched her, as if captivated by her pleasure. He kissed her and held her close, as she writhed against his hand, until she heard herself crying out and felt the wild burst inside of her that was pleasure and pain, relief and torment, all rolled into one. She had only known such a feeling with Erik's body, and never more powerfully than she did then.

She shuddered against him, her body loose and relaxed, and she was startled by his question, which came out of nowhere. “Have you bled? Since Beamfleot?” He did not speak with shame, and Aethelflaed controlled her own embarrassment.

“Yes.” The bleeding had come with grief and relief, knowing herself barren and thinking Erik lost to her. “I have bled this moon already.”

Erik nodded, thinking. “So you were not with child after...after our time in Beamfleot. We should be more careful going forward, you are right. We will...we will have time.” He sighed as he said it.

“And Aethelred...”

“Aethelred will die, when the time is right.”

“We will have to be apart for...who knows how long?” The truth of that was like a bruise on Aethelflaed's heart.

“Yes.” Erik's voice was raw with emotion as well. “You must...return to Aegelsburgh. And I to Danish Mercia. But we will see each other soon. I swear it.” He stroked her hair as he said it. “And you will have Birger, and Audr. You must send Birger to me if there is any danger. I will come for you.” She nodded, trying to swallow back the tears that swam in her throat.

“ _Ek er thin ok tu er mi.”_ Erik whispered the words against her hair, and Aethelflaed's sluggish mind struggled to catch the meaning. “I am yours and you are mine.”

In the end, Erik did take her mouth. Or rather, Aethelflaed gave it to him, wet and willing, drawing his pleasure from him as he had teased hers out before. His hands were tangled in her hair, gentle at first, as she kissed and licked his cock, making him gasp and groan. She smiled up at him, biting her lower lip and flushing at his pleasure, and the sight of her bright and blushing between his legs was almost more than he could bear. And then she had taken him fully, and his hands had clenched and twisted on her head, pulling her closer, so that he rode into her warm, wet throat. When he loosed himself, he thought he had never known a pleasure so deep and wild in his life.

They rode back towards Aegelsburgh together, in the fading night. Aethelflaed rode astride in front of Erik, her body held against him and his cloak wrapped around them both. She was heavy with exhaustion, and occasionally leaned her head back against him as if to sleep. Erik was wearied and spent as well, but he held himself awake by will in the bracing cold. He drank in the fleeting pleasure of Aethelflaed's body against him, relaxed and warm beneath his cloak. They would be parted soon, and then he would be sleepless for the need of her.

In time, they came to stall in the woods North of Aegelsburgh. Erik could see the outline of the fortress through the trees, but the torches had burned down and the guard had dwindled in the lull of pre-dawn. Aethelflaed was as loose and lazy as a grain sack as he helped her off the horse, and kissed her fervently in the dying moonlight. And then they had parted – Aethelflaed to shimmy back under the crack in the wall, and Erik to watch her go with an aching heart. When he could see her shape no more, for she was safely tucked behind the walls, he turned and did not look back. He would take his rest, and return to Bedaford, and try not to think of her every moment of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that reunion was worth the wait....more chapters coming soon, although Erik and Aethelflaed will have to walk their paths separately for a little while. World-building, character development, and political plotting will be the name of the game for several chapters as the slow burn continues... And in the meantime, as always, comments give me life.


	11. Chapter 11

Part Two: Aethelflaed of Aegelsburgh

“Your friends – the new couple.” Hilda was speaking to Aethelflaed in the hall. Aethelflaed had slept long and deeply after the ride with Erik, and had risen when the sun was already approaching the West. Hilda fixed her now with a reproachful glare, and Aethelflaed had to pull back her mind from swimming in lust-filled memories of her time with Erik. She felt like a girl again, drunk on dreams of love. Aethelflaed brought her mind to heel, and started slightly at Hilda's insinuation. She managed a light laugh.

“They are not my friends, Hilda. I've only just met them.”

Hilda ignored her. “I thought they were Saxon, but I was wrong. They are Danes.”

Aethelflaed masked her alarm and waved a hand carelessly. “They have Danish names, perhaps. But they were born and raised in England. How long must a Dane live in England because they can be called English?”

Hilda's face was crumpled in disagreement. “I think it depends which side of Watling Street they dwell on, Lady.”

“They may call the East of Watling Street “Daneland” but it remains English soil. And we will reclaim it in time. For now, we must not make enemies of those who would be our friends.”

“And what of those who would be spies against us? Lady?” She added the last word quickly, as if suddenly remembering her place. Aethelflaed gave her a hard look, and saw the woman quell a bit under her judgment. The silence stretched, and Aethelflaed saw her chance.

“That reminds me, Hilda.” She smiled, breaking the tension. “I have been away so long, and then, since I've been home – recovering from my...ordeal. You have had to take all the duties of the household and kitchens onto yourself, and I thank you for your service.” Hilda's eyes were shifting, as if trying to cut through Aethelflaed's sweet-spoken words and find her intention. Aethelflaed continued. “But it is time for me to pick up my duties.” She took a breath. “So – to start, I would like a thorough roster of all the retainers of the estate– men, women, children, servants and slaves – as well as the allowance each is permitted in wage, board, or barter. I will scribe this information down for my own records. Secondly, I would like an inventory of all the stores and stocks of the estate – grain, meat, fruit, honey, as well as non foods – wool roving, flax, cloth, hides, ore, the like. I will find you tomorrow so that you can assist me in making an account of the inventory and, of course, scribing it for my records.” Hilda's mouth was opening and closing wordlessly like a fish, her eyes round and confused in her face. “And finally, any future decisions about the household – taking on servants, punishing slaves, or severing employment - as well as purchases to swell our stocks, must be approved by me. Is that understood?”

She gave Hilda a moment. The poor woman was reeling, and Aethelflaed did not want her to keel over with a stoppered heart. After several long moments, she spoke.

“But Lady...Lord Aethelred--”

“Lord Aethelred wishes to preserve his wife's idleness,” she said, generously. “But it is not necessary. I am perfectly capable of managing my own household, as any true Saxon lady should be.” Hilda nodded and swallowed. “You may choose to help me, and we can be friends. Or...you may choose to work against me, and then...I fear we will not be friends.”

Hilda remained silent.

“Well.” Aethelflaed sighed. “I'm glad we've got that all sorted out.”

Aethelflaed and Hilda were certainly not friends, and Aethelflaed's grab for power did nothing to foster camaraderie between the two. But Hilda abdicated to Aethelflaed's requests, and soon Aethelflaed had a better sense of the workings of the household than she had ever had since her marriage to Aethelred. She knew how much grain and smoked meat remained in their stores – plenty, by her calculations, to last the estate through until the first harvest – and how it was allocated out amongst the household. She knew which servants held the most power over day-to-day decisions and which were little more than lackeys. There were more slaves on the estate than she would have liked, mostly women and youths from Wales and Ireland. She did not mourn heavily for their fate – she imagined the living was as good at Aegelsburgh as it would be anywhere else, if not better. But she worried that slaves could not be risen to loyalty. She imagined they would always hold resentment for those who bound their labor, and Aethelflaed needed loyal servants more than anything. On top of that, they were simply expensive to keep. But then Aethelflaed remembered that Dagfinn had been a slave, before he was freed by Erik, and he had become Erik's most loyal companion. Perhaps there was some potential there after all.

From the rosters that Hilda dictated to her, Aethelflaed learned that Wulfric commanded the household guard when Aldhelm was not at Aegelsburgh, and that two other men held positions of authority in the daily workings of the estate: Ormod, the stable master, and Eadig, the joiner. Wulfric was a lost cause, of course. There was no love between him and Aethelflaed. But she thought she might be able to find some rapport with the others. Of course, there was also Halig the priest, who lurked around the hall when he was not in his chapel, always wishing to hiss at Aethelflaed about sin and penance. Aethelflaed attended to her prayers each day and treated the man with formal courtesy, but otherwise she avoided him like the plague. He could offer her no true counsel.

And so she sought out Eadig the joiner, one cool and misty morning four days after her night with Erik. Aethelred had still not returned, and she was glad for it, although his extended absence left her feeling like a blade was hanging over her head. When he returned, the fragile power she was trying to claim for herself could easily be shattered. But she had to try.

Eadig was working under the roof of a low, open, thatched shed when she found him, painstakingly planing a small timber with a smooth faced ax. He was a short, broad man with a balding head and long black beard. He was surprised to see her approaching, and looked around as if expecting to find someone more important standing behind him.

“You are Eadig, no?” Aethelflaed smiled gently at his nervousness.

“Yes, Lady.”

“I hear you are an accomplished builder and woodsmith.”

“It is my craeft.” He still looked confused and slightly worried.

“I have come to see you about the hall. It will need new thatch in the Spring, I think.”

Eadig nodded. “Aye, it will. I had noticed it myself, Lady.”

“And there is a post that is rotting out in the front. It will need to be replaced, will it not?”

“It will, Lady. You are right.”

Aethelflaed smiled again, and Eadig seemed to ease. “So then you have a plan, for replacing it?”

Eadig suddenly looked uncomfortable again. “I --” he stuttered and stalled. “The Lord Aethelred, he... I have not had a chance to discuss it with him.”

“And does the Lord Aethelredmake himself readily available for such discussions?” Eadig fell silent and did not respond, his face drawn. “What do you need, for the post? A timber?”

Eadig seemed to be making a difficult decision, then let out a breath and spoke. “Yes, a tall one, good and straight. There is such a tree in the woods just North of the estate. I've seen it myself. It would be perfect.”

“Then you shall cull the tree, and bring it into your shop to prepare for the Spring, when the old post can be dug out.”

“That would be...wise, Lady. It is a good time to cut. The wood will not be too wet, and the post will be less likely to warp come Summer.”

“Then it shall be done.”

“But Lady...” Eadig was nervous again. “The Lord Aethelred, will he not be...”

“Angry? Perhaps. But his anger shall be with me, not you. And the hall must be repaired, or we will all be living in a pig pen come Summer. He will see sense.” Aethelred would not see sense if it stared him in the face. Aethelflaed knew that, and perhaps Eadig did as well, but it did her no good to denounce her husband in front of the man. Better to play the wise and patient wife.

Eadig nodded, his smile easy and relaxed again, and Aethelflaed deemed the outing a success.

When she was not trying to charm the household servants, or busy scribing and organizing the records of the estate, she spent her time weaving. The inventory had revealed an excess of raw fibers and a shortage of woven cloth. Even Hilda was complaining that the kitchen rags were cut from older kitchen rags, as they made use of every scrap they had. In truth, it was likely Aethelflaed's fault. She had not woven since the early days of her marriage, before Aethelred had taken her to London, and it was the loss of her labor that likely dwindled the stores. Aethelred had seen no reason to trade for wool cloth and linen, and apparently, Hilda had seen no reason to press him about it. She had only grumbled.

So now Aethelflaed spent hours weaving on the large loom in the main hall, with Audr and her other ladies assisting in leveling the weights and spinning soft, evens hanks of thread to wind through the warp. She also ordered that weaving should take priority in the work of the women slaves, and made sure that the grubehauser – the loom hut – in the back of the yard was well outfitted. She even visited the grubehauser sometimes, watching the small, weathered _wealh_ women work, their hands quick and deft. They had been surprised and uncomfortable the first time she had visited and had spoken little. But the more she came, the easier their simple talk and jesting flowed in her presence, and she came to relax in their company as well.

Audr stayed close to her, promoted to the role of lady's maid from her work in the kitchens. Aethelflaed knew it roused Hilda's suspicions, but Audr was a clever and quick learner, and Aethelflaed thought she could make a reasonable case that Audr was better suited as her weaving companion than as a kitchen errand girl. Audr rested some nights in Aethelflaed's chamber with her, as they had at Beamfleot, telling secrets and stories to each other in the fading candlelight.

And Audr brought news from Birger and the household guard. So Aethelflaed learned that Wulfric was the second-in-command after Aldhelm, but that another man name Deogol held rank on the guard. Birger had befriended him, and found him to be a companionable man who often groused about Wulfric, Aldhelm, and Aethelred when no one else was listening. Aethelflaed tucked the knowledge away, with gratitude to Audr and Birger both.

So Aethelflaed started to feel more at home than she had since...when? Her father's palace? Had that ever felt like a true home? She couldn't say now. It seemed so distant and hazy. But at Aegelsburgh she was starting to forge a shaky peace, a knowledge that she belonged and that she had a measure of control over her life. And she dreamed of sharing that home - and the people who made it - with Erik. It was a silent prayer in her mind and her heart as she drifted to sleep, and it was the first thought that crossed her upon waking. It felt real, truly real – a dream that she could reach out and touch if only she stretched far enough.

And then Aethelred returned.


	12. Chapter 12

Bedaford offered Erik a lonely return. Dagfinn remained with him, as always, and the men that Birger had raised were mostly pleased to see him come back, but he missed Birger and Audr, and Aethelflaed remained always on his mind. He found himself turning in the night on his small mattress, expecting to find her and pull her warm body against him. The empty ache that greeted him instead was always a small blow. He had never spent a true night with her, never slept by her side and awoken easefully in the morning to her gentle embrace. They had only stolen moments, claiming their pleasure where they could, always under secrecy and threat.

Erik fought back the bitterness of their continued separation as best he could. He traveled to Medeshamstede with a small company of men, and they made the journey in under a day, spending the night outside the village. Medeshamstede was a small town, near the border of East Anglia, Northeast from Bedaford. It had been a rich town once, they said, home to a wealthy monastery. But the monastery had been sacked a generation ago and many of the monks were put to the sword. The monastery had not recovered, but the town had re-sprouted, and now bore a fruitful mix of Saxons and Danes cohabitating in brittle unease. Erik had become used to it; such seemed to be the way in Danish Mercia. He wondered, as he entered the small town, whether Christians still dwelt openly in the area, or whether they had all fled, or been forced to conceal their faith to avoid the fate of the murdered monks. Like all such towns in Danish Mercia, Medeshamstede seemed desperate for a strong peace. 

The town itself was enclosed with ramshackle wooden walls and a ragged ring of armed men, who watched them warily as they approached and entered the open gates. It was a market day, and carts, horses, and thin-faced merchants all jostled in the narrow streets. There was a hall that sat on the crest of the village hill, and Erik's men ignored the bustle of the market in favor of their destination. It was small, and rather ramshackle, but several armed men stood in the yard outside with brightly polished spears and helmets. Someone of worth resided there, and Erik wondered with amusement if the tumble-down appearance of the town was at least in part a ruse. It would be wise for any local lord to conceal his wealth, sitting so close to the border between Danish territories. The prickle of intuition gave Erik confidence. Perhaps he was not a fool to seek out the Lord of Medeshamstede. Maybe the town was a greater jewel than he had thought.

The men stalled their approach with grim faces, and Erik dismounted and disarmed himself in good faith. His men followed suit.

“I come here to speak with your Lord, in peace and honor.” He said, with a smile in his voice. “I can leave most of my men outside, if it suits you, to enjoy the pleasure of your company and your ale.”

The armed guards murmured to each other for a moment, before bidding Erik to wait at their Lord's command. Erik had sent no spies to the area around Medeshamstede, and his own men hailed mostly from the North of Bedaford, and knew little of the current Lord. The best information he had gathered was that the man was a Dane, and that he had once served Guthrum. All else, Erik would have to learn for himself.

After several minutes, Erik was beckoned within, and he nodded for Dagfinn and another man called Sig to follow him in turn. The hall was finer on the inside than it had appeared from the yard, with several finely woven tapestries hanging and partitioning the wide, vaulted space. But it was not a Christian hall. An altar was set near the center, with herbs smoking from the stone, and blood still thick in the trough.

A man stood near the front of the room to greet him, a slight challenge in the lines of his body. He was tall and broad, older than Erik by a decade or more. His red gold hair glimmered in the light, and his eyes narrowed over a thick nose that I had been broken more than once. Behind him stood a finely dressed young woman, who Erik took for the man's wife. She did not meet his eye.

The man spoke after a moment. “I would know your name, before I bid you enter my hall. Although my men tell me you have disarmed in good faith.”

“I have, Lord.” Erik felt a pang of trepidation. He was much closer to East Anglia here, and to the reach of rumor and gossip from Beamfleot. But he had little choice. “My name is Erik Thurgilson. I would know yours as well, if you see fit to give it.”

But the man's eyes had grown wide at Erik's name, and he did not respond. “So the rumors are not true then,” he said lowly instead.

“What rumors would those be?” Erik kept his voice easy, but he felt the tremor of tension in the room. Dagfinn and Sig stiffened imperceptibly behind him.

“The rumors that say you are dead, killed on your brother's sword.” The man stared firmly into Erik's eyes as he spoke, as if hoping to find something useful within them.

Erik merely laughed. “Well it appears I am a hard man to kill. And now...I have the honor of entering the hall of...?” He posed his question with a smile.

The man huffed slightly. “Eluf. Eluf Thorsson.”

Erik let his body ease and relax. “And would you bear my company at your table, Eluf Thorsson? I would be happy to tell you of my escape from death, if you wish to hear it.”

Thorsson looked away, his face grim and drawn. “You have found me on a busy day, Erik Thurgilson.” Erik sensed there was some mockery in the man's tone, but he could not understand it. “Maybe tomorrow. There is an inn you can rest at, two streets down.” And then the man turned in a huff, dismissing Erik with a breath.

Erik was wary of staying in the town. He thought the man might betray him to Siegfried, or to Guthrum. He still had no way of knowing where Thorsson's allegiance lay. But he knew that if Eluf was not betraying him, he would interpret Erik leaving the village as a breach of trust. So he remained, uneasily, with Dagfinn and Sig at the inn, while the rest of the men camped outside the village and watched for approaching warriors.

The inn where they stayed boasted the presence of several whores, and Sig had tangled with one quickly after their arrival. The boy would spend what little silver he had on whores, if Erik did not stall him. Another had speared her eye on Erik. She was a tall woman with long red hair, and a pretty if weathered face above her low-cut gown. She had tried to sit on Erik's lap, as he drank on a short bench with Dagfinn, and Erik had needed to push her gently but firmly away from him. Even as he did it, he felt an ache and thrum in his body, and his cock stiffened slightly against his will. But it was not the whore he desired. She only stirred his body's memory of Aethelflaed. He tried to drown the thought of his lover with heavy draughts of ale, but on his third horn, Dagfinn stopped his hand.

“Begging your pardon, Lord,” the man said, with agruff humor in his voice. “But I think the red woman has spit in your drink.”

Erik was liking Medeshamstede less and less.

On the second day, Erik called again at Eluf's hall. The man still perused him with wary eyes, but he invited Erik to his table and offered him mead and bread. His wife was not present.

“So,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “You have broken with your brother. With Siegfried?”

Erik swallowed. “I have.

“Some say you fought over a woman.”

Erik felt a lurch of fear in his belly. _So the story had traveled_. He managed a small laugh. “No, Lord. I fear that is only a story. It was my brother's temper, and his cruelty, that caused us to fall out.”

Eluf laughed in return, to Erik surprise. “Too bad. It would have made a good song.” The man was letting Erik see his humor. But Erik still held his trust close.

“Perhaps. And what of you? Do you serve Guthrum?” The man's face fell, and he looked at Erik darkly again.

“No. No, I will not serve that Christian twat.”

Erik nodded. “And who do you serve?”

Eluf swallowed his mead and brushed the crumbs from his fingers, piercing Erik with a sharp and open look. “Why are you here, Lord Erik? What do you want? My protection? My help? I am sick of games and half truths.”

Erik held his hands up, as if in surrender and placation. “I have no intent to deceive you, Lord Eluf. In truth, I seek to move against my brother. To counter his attack and claim Mercia for my own. I seek allies, and friends. Men who would prosper from peace in these lands.”

Eluf grunted, his face still gruff, but there was a note of surprise in his eyes. “With what force? You command men?”

“I do.” Eluf did not have to know it was little more than twenty men. “And I have allies. Allies in Saxon Mercia. But I seek Danes to join me.”

“What allies?”

“Powerful allies.”

“Hmph.” Eluf took another sip of mead. “I think your brother may have been right to try and gut you. You hold your truths close. I think you are a deceiver, Erik Thurgilson.”

Erik bristled at the slight. It was not a small thing, to accuse a fellow warrior of deception and treachery. The code of honor would not allow Erik to let it pass unchallenged. But he had no intention of fighting the man.

He stood abruptly, and Eluf mirrored him. He remembered standing across a table from Haesten in such a way. It felt like long ago. That day had bred bitterness and betrayal. Erik could only hope he did not walk the same path now.

“I will take my leave of you now,” he said stiffly. “And of this shit-pot town. I have realized that I have no need of your friendship.”

Eluf guffawed, a mocking, braying laugh, and Erik could see the brownness of his teeth in his mouth. He turned to leave. “You are a joke, Erik Weasel-son!” he crowed to Erik's back. “A joke! I will laugh when you die.”

Erik did not turn back.

They did take their leave of Medeshamstede that day, even though the light was half gone already. They rode hard and fast into the growing darkness and camped the night many miles from the village. Erik sent a man to double back behind them and another to scout ahead for potential traps or ambushes on the road. They reported that the way was clear and that they rode without a shadow. Yet all the way back to Bedaford, Erik could not shake the feeling that they were being followed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: threat of violence in a sexual context

Aethelred returned without notice or messenger, then glowered disgruntedly at the fact that the hall was not prepared for his arrival. Hilda bustled around frantically, commanding servants to bring food and ale to the hall and stoke the fires up to beat back the chill. Aethelflaed had spent the day outside, and so the wood had burned down to coals without being rekindled. Now she met Aethelred in the hall, her hair uncovered and slightly askew, her dress soiled where it had been dragged through the frozen mud. Aethelred looked at her with disdain.

“You look like a filthy goose girl.” They were the first words he had spoken to her. Aethelflaed had not expected kindness, and was unfazed.

“We were not expecting your return, Lord.”

“This is my house!” She had forgotten how needling his nasal, rage-filled voice was. “I do not need to announce myself.”

“No, Lord husband.” She offered demurely. She always tried to placate Aethelred. She did not want to rouse his anger. But sometimes her tongue betrayed her against her will. She tried to lash it tightly now.

“Come here.” Aethelred commanded. Aethelflaed tried to obey, but she knew that he wanted to stand over to her and threaten her with the closeness of his body. Her legs remained obstinately fixed, stuck like posts to the ground. He was forced to walk over to her, and his face contorted with frustration.

“Hilda tells me you have been a nuisance.” His voice was low now. “Ordering servants about, commanding men to join _my_ guard.” _Hilda_. So the woman would be her enemy, it seemed.

“It is my household too, Lord. It is my guard as well.” She was not surprised when he struck her, but the shock and pain of it still rippled through her body, locking her knees and coiling her stomach into a pit as the bruise bloomed on her cheek. She took a step back, and he closed the distance. She felt a tremor in her body, the burgeoning sense of powerlessness. So all her hard work would be shattered now. She could do nothing to stop it, or him.

“You have taken on a new lady's maid, I hear. A Danish girl. What's wrong with your existing maids, if I may ask?” His tone was mocking, a joke at being polite. He had no care for courtesy, not where Aethelflaed was concerned. “They are good Mercian women.”

Aethelflaed's tongue had been unlashed by Aethelred's strike. She wished it wasn't so, that his anger did not breed her defiance. But she could not help it. “Good Mercian women who spend their nights in your bed. I think I'll take my comforts elsewhere.”

She was prepared this time, so that when he raised his hand, she stepped back neatly and dodged. He found himself flailing his hand in empty air and his eyes narrowed at her. Her body was tense, guarded. She had no knife or sword of course, but if she did, she would have held it in her right hand and braced her left arm out, her knees bent and her feet grounded. Her body held an echo of the stance, she knew, and Aethelred saw it as well. He eased back, his eyes still narrowed and his face still twisted with contempt. Perhaps he was remembering that she had killed three men in Beamfleot. Perhaps he wondered if she had a knife held up her gown. He looked away, and the tension snapped.

“Keep your Danish girl.” He said finally. “I do not care.” He turned with a swirl of his cloak, heading towards his personal chambers. “But I do not wish to see her in this hall. Or your ugly guard. If I do, I'll kill them both.”

So they eased back into something resembling their earlier arrangement. Aethelred mostly ignored Aethelflaed, pretending she was not in the same room as him when they shared space, and speaking over her when she tried to talk. Aethelflaed found herself outside of the hall more often than not, her loom abandoned yet again, as she walked the orchards and yard, hardening her skin against the chill. She watched Eadig's progress stripping the large ash bole of twigs and bark in his shop, and also passed time with the _wealh_ women in the grubehauser. They wove a rougher kind of cloth than Aethelflaed, but it was still finely done and held its own rustic beauty. Aethelflaed enjoyed the magic and wonder of watching them dye the finished cloth in the large vat of water steeped with dried herbs and berries. When the cloth emerged, it was a lovely pale green, and all the women had crooned over it and watched and waited while it dried. Aethelflead had felt a gentle companionship with the women then.

Audr stayed more often in the kitchens, for her own safety, to avoid Aethelred's wrath. But Aethelflaed walked often through them, glaring daggers at Hilda when she did, and biding time with Audr beside the warmth of the wash pot fire. She knew it was not proper, that a true Saxon lady would never spend bide her time with a maid beside a pot of dirty dish water. But she cared little for decorum now. She took her small comforts where she could.

She was startled to find Audr one morning, five days after Aethelred's return, nursing a bruised nose and split lip. Audr tried to hide her face from Aethelflaed as she approached, but Aethelflaed quickly pulled the rag from her hands and looked at her bruised and beaten skin.

“What happened to you?” Her voice was low with passion. “Who did this to you?”

Audr looked away. “It is nothing, it does not matter.”

“Did Birger do this? One of the men?”

“No..no, not Birger. He wouldn't do this.” Audr tried to give her a thin smile.

“Tell me, Audr.”

“Lady, I cannot.” Audr could be as firm and commanding as Aethelflaed when she wanted to. Aethelflaed saw the defiance in her face, and the sheen of fear that glimmered behind it, and the truth dawned on it like a quick, dull blow to the head.

“It was Aethelred.” She knew her voice was deep with fury and that her eyes must have flashed dangerously as she spoke.

“Lady, you must not do anything.”

“Did he find you in the hall?” She asked.

“Lady -”

“Tell me now, Audr.”

Audr sighed, looking away and then back into Aethelflaed's fierce face. “No. I did not go into the hall. But he sought me out. He wanted to know...he wanted to know if anyone else slept in your bed.” She seemed ashamed at the words. Aethelflaed knew that Aethelred wielded shame like a sword. Her rage simmered ever more hot. “I would not speak to him, so he struck me. I have had much worse, Lady. It is not so bad. Please do not do anything....”

Aethelflaed heard the fear in Audr's voice and eased her body, softening her eyes. She held the rag to her friend's face, dabbing away the blood that had welled up from Audr's lips.

“You have a salve, for the pain?”

“I do.” Audr was becoming quite the healer.

“It will ease soon. I certainly know.” She gave Audr a warm smile, and the girl began to ease.

“You will not do anything, Lady?”

But Aethelflaed only held Audr close, and said nothing.

She went to Aethelred's chamber that night. The sun had been set for hours and the fires were burning down to ash in the grates as she crept across the empty hall to his room. She slipped inside quietly, and was surprised to find that Aethelred slept alone, and deeply. He did not stir when she entered. She moved like a specter in the night, until she stood over his mattress, breathing deeply and steeling herself for what was to come. She sent out a silent prayer for protection and thought of Erik, fleetingly. She would not let his face dwell in her mind. She did not want to imagine his fear and reproach at what she planned.

Aethelred slept on his back, his arm cast across his body and his mouth open in a light snore. She remembered when she had found him handsome, when her dreams had woven around him, when she had imagined what it might be like to share his bed. She swallowed with disgust. He was as lovely as a worm to her now. But she brought her hand to his chest, lightly, gently, caressing down his body with light strokes. He stirred, and then opened his eyes with surprise and fear to see her standing over him. He was confused – wildly confused – and looked around in panic for several long moments, trying to push her away. But she kept stroking her hand down his front until his confusion gave way to a look of reluctant pleasure.

“What are you doing here?” he gasped, still drunk with sleep.

She sighed weakly. “I was lonely in my chamber. I did not want to sleep alone.” She remembered Haesten, and his round-eyed excitement at her weak-willed compliance. Aethelred was similarly roused now. He wore only a long shift, but she felt him start to stiffen under her hand and he groaned. She still stood over him, and he looked like he would move, but she slipped her hand under the edge of the shift and held him naked in her palm. He gasped then, and she smiled. She felt very far away from it all, from him, and from her own body. She did not think of the pleasure she took with Erik. She would not sully those memories with what she did now. She would not think of what Erik would say if he could see her with Aethelred's cock in her hand.

Aethelred was fully roused now, and he moved to take control. She knew he would wish to turn her, hold her down, and use her from behind. But she was prepared. At the first twist of his body towards her she unsheathed the knife hidden in her waistband. Aethelred's eyes grew round with surprise and fear as she held it to the soft skin of his bollocks. He gave a strangled gasp.

“You bitch!” Aethelflaed pushed the knife barely against him, so that it bit just a tiny bit into his tender skin. His face went white as snow.

Aethelflaed spoke calmly and evenly, as gently as she had the day she told him of the men she killed. All the while his balls were twisted in her hand as the knife pressed firm against him. “If you ever raise your hand to me....if you ever raise your hand to my maid....if you ever so much as touch a hair on the head of my Danish girl again...I will geld you in your sleep.”

Aethelred's face was furious now, even as he lay immobilized in fear of her blade.

“I will kill you for this. I will kill you for this, do you hear me?” His voice was a fierce and desperate whisper. Aethelflaed twisted the knife again, gently, and the words died in his throat with a choke.

“Do you understand me?” She asked. She still stroked him slightly with her hand, just because she could, just because she knew it would torment him.

He gave a shallow nod, and she released him. She still held the knife unsheathed in front of her, so he could not lunge for her without risking the blade. She backed away slowly as he struggled up, clutching himself in protection.

“You are dead, Aethelflaed of Wessex.” His voice was poison. “You are dead.” She slipped out of the door and ran lightly across the hall. She would not rest in her chamber tonight and risk being trapped there as Aethelred tried to take his vengeance. Instead she slipped outside, her feet clad in wool-lined leather, and made her way to the orchard. She had stashed a roll of cloaks and furs there, in a hidden spot below the bee skeps. The dense, dead branches of the shrubbery concealed a hollow in the Earth, even in the daylight. And it was there she nestled down, swaddled against the cold. She would not sleep, she knew. But it was a safer place than her room. Aethelred would not find her in the night. And in the morning...she could only wait and see what the day brought.


	14. Chapter 14

Erik returned to Bedaford still sour from his meeting with Eluf Thorrson. The man had accused him of deception, but Erik could not forget the cagey look that simmered in his own eyes. Erik trusted the scouting of his men, but he still could not rid himself of a small tremor of doubt. Had Eluf sent word to Siegfried? Was he stalked, even now, by his brother's men? He had known that the news that he lived would reach Siegfried eventually. He had hoped that his brother might ignore him, happy with the silver of his ransom and unwilling or unable to pursue Erik out of vengeance alone. But if Thorsson told Siegfried that Erik moved against him – that would be a different situation entirely. It was always a risk, courting allies and dodging treachery. Erik only wished he had not stumbled so early in his game.

He set more guards around the small chambers where he rested, with more prowling the streets of Bedaford for unfamiliar faces and new fighting men. Even so, he slept restlessly, with his seax always close to hand. So he was startled when Sig found him, several days after their return, slightly breathless from his run through the village.

“Lord Erik!” He spoke low and urgently. “There is a man here to see you. A warrior.” Erik clasped the handle of his short sword tightly where it hung from his belt and looked behind Sig in search of the man. “He is not here,” Sig added. “He will meet you at the ale house in the Northwest quarter.”

The Northwest quarter was the most lawless part of the town, where brawls were common, and men's blood was often washed from the stones of the yard. Erik strode in the direction of it now, with Dagfinn at his side and Sig trotting behind. “Was he a Dane? A Saxon? Were there other men with him?”

“I did not see any other men. He said he was a friend, and that he came with welcome news.” Erik relaxed a bit. “I think he was Dane. It was hard to say.”

Erik did not dare to hope that the man who waited for him was Uhtred. That would be almost too good a boon to expect after his late poor luck. But he still felt an anxious excitement as they approached the ale house, and then a lurch of pleased surprise when the dark-haired warrior stepped out of the shadows of the building to greet him.

“Uhtred! It is good to see you!” Erik grasped the man in a true embrace, and Uhtred returned it.

“And it is good to see that you are still on your feet. I thought I might find a dead man in your place.”

“No.” Erik laughed. “No, I am well. Thanks to you – and Audr.” He clapped Uhtred again on the shoulder, taking in his worn and weary face and his dirty clothes. “But where have you been Uhtred? We have heard no news. The Lady Aethelflaed --”

“You have seen her?”

“Yes.” Erik knew his face was tight with pleasure and longing. He looked around warily, nodded to Dagfinn and Sig to stand watch outside, then ducked into the tavern with Uhtred. “Yes, we have found each other.”

“And she is....?” He looked around, as if expecting to see Aethelflaed hiding behind him.

“Back at Aegelsburgh, of course. Biding time, strengthening her position there while I strengthen mine here. But Uhtred... she was looking for you. She thought, when you did not come to find her...” he trailed off, trying not to let his voice hold the reprimand he felt.

“I am sorry for that. Truly. But I have been away...attending to important matters.”

“And what might those be?”

They had found a lonely corner of the alehouse, where not even the whores bothered to trawl, and Uhtred gestured to a passing maid for two ale horns. He spoke lowly, his voice little more than a whisper. “Another raid on Siegfried's camp.”

Erik stalled in a shocked silence. “Uhtred, are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

Uhtred laughed humorlessly. “Quite the opposite. Once Siegfried marches, Alfred will send me to the vanguard to meet him, I'm sure. I would strike against him now to lessen the slaughter later.”

“And did you meet with success?” Erik felt a tension in his chest as they discussed Siegfried, all the old love and betrayal rustled up like dead leaves in his heart.

Uhtred's face was tight and drawn. “I lost some men. Men I loved.”

“I am sorry, Uhtred.”

“But we burned twelve of Siegfried's warships down to ash in the Thames.”

Erik was speechless. “ _Twelve?_ ” It was a mighty blow. He thought of _Wavetamer_ and _Windsong_ with a pain, wondering if they were among the ruined ships. “Does Alfred know of this?”

“Not yet.” Uhtred admitted. The maid returned with their ale horns and Uhtred waited a long moment until she had walked out of ear shot. “I planned the raid without him. I feared he would force me to bring Aethelred along or else stall my hand for some unknown reason. I'm sure he will find some reason to chastise me when I bring him the news.” Uhtred served an ungrateful master, and Erik felt the pain of it for him.

“And Siegfried? Does he plan to march?”

“Not till spring, I think. Especially not now. He will wait for more reinforcements. It's what I would do, if I were him.” Uhtred looked at Erik now. “Do you think they will come?”

Erik thought for a long moment. “Some, perhaps,” he said. “But many of Siegfried's old allies and battle brothers have already come. Those who were considering joining his army may be spooked, by the raid on his ships. No Viking wants to risk his ships, not for all the wealth of Wessex.” Erik paused, and Uhtred nodded. “But he will buy mercenaries, with the silver from the ransom.”

“Yes.” Uhtred sighed. “But they will be weakened in the water. We can meet them better on land. The fyrd -”

“Ploughmen and shepherds will be no match for mercenary warriors, and you know it.”

Uhtred sighed and looked away, but he continued, pressing. “The fyrd is strong. But you are right, we need more warriors. Which is why you have been rallying the Danish warriors of Mercia to your cause, no?”

It was Erik's turn to look away. “I have tried.” He laughed dryly. “The lords will not join me without knowing my Saxon allies. And I cannot name my Saxon allies without risking Aethelflaed's safety – and yours.”

Uhtred looked at him sharply. “Am I your ally now?”

“Was there another reason you saw fit to come and report to me on Siegfried's position?”

The tension cracked and Uhtred laughed lightly. “I suppose I am your ally. But my name will not cross your lips in Danish Mercia, or your life is forfeit.”

“No..it won't. I swear it.” Their dialogue lapsed for a moment. Erik was thoughtful before he spoke again. “I have thought...perhaps it would make sense for Aethelflaed to speak to the Danish Mercians. She does not have to reveal our alliance, only make her own case for a unified Mercia. The clever amongst them might guess at the truth, or they may simply plan to play us both against each other, and in so doing swear doubly to our cause.” Erik had parried the idea in his mind, since his utter failure with Eluf. Aethelflaed would not be going to treat with Eluf, that much was certain. But Cuthbert...the Saxon lord of Bedaford might be more amenable to the Lady of the Mercians.

Uhtred's voice cut gruffly through Erik's thoughts. “Or they may simply take her hostage and demand their own ransom.”

“She will be well guarded.” Erik replied stiffly.

“Are you asking for my opinion or my consent?”

“Your opinion, I suppose. I do not need your consent.”

Uhtred nodded and thought for a long moment. “I think...it is the only option you have.”

Erik let out a breath. “Will you go to Aegelsburgh? To see Aethelflaed?”

“And face her wrath?” Uhtred laughed. “I suppose...it is the right thing to do.”

“You can bring a message when you do.”

“Am I your errand boy now?”

“No. You are my ally.” Uhtred rolled his eyes. “Tell her that I am well, and to come to Bedaford with Birger as soon as she is able. She should send word into town when she arrives, and I will meet her in safety.”

Uhtred nodded. “And what shall I tell her husband? That a foolhardy Norseman waits to ride his wife?”

Erik laughed with a flush. “You will tell him nothing...if he is even there.”

“Aethelred does not reside at Aegelsburgh anymore?”

“He does, but he leaves for long periods and does not tell Aethelflaed where he goes. Perhaps he oversees the fyrd at Oxenford. I do not know and do not care. The fewer nights he sleeps in Aegelsburgh, the more nights I can sleep without worry.”

“I will deliver your message. And in return you owe me men from Danish Mercia.”

Erik laughed. “And here I thought we were not allies.”

They drank together a while longer, bantering and sharing stories. Erik was surprised at the ease he found in Uhtred's company. He thought they might be friends, now. He supposed it was hard to not forge friendship with a man who had saved his life. But as the ale drained from their horns, Erik felt the sense creeping fear and distrust edge back into his belly.

“Uhtred -” he said suddenly. “Were you tracking me? And my party? Did you come by way of Medeshamstede?”

Uhtred's face was confused as he thought for a moment. “No...no. I came from the South. The last town I rested in was Lintone.” Erik sighed, his worry uneased. “Why do you ask?”

Erik tried to smile weakly. “I fear I've made an enemy in Medeshamstede. I had the feeling of being followed...but no threat has arisen. Perhaps it is just my fear speaking.”

Uhtred smiled but his eyes creased tensely, and he looked over the room with a wary face, as the darkness grew around them.


	15. Chapter 15

Aethelflaed woke cold and stiff in the dawn. She had not expected to sleep, but it seemed that she had drifted off sometime in the darkest hours of the night, weary with watching and worrying in the freezing darkness. She started a bit, to realize that she lay outside in the bright morning light. But she soon eased, remembering that she rested well hidden and safe from Aethelred's anger.

Even swaddled within the furs, the cold had crept and solidified in her bones like ice. She was sluggish, and her limbs and face were numb. She needed to move, she knew, and find rest beside a warm fire, or risking catching a dangerous chill. She would have to risk being seen. She would be risking Aethelred's wrath. But she could not hide from him forever.

She stumbled to the kitchens, still wrapped within her thick cloaks, seeking out Audr and her warm wash-pot fire. The girl was startled to see her, staggering towards her as pale as a corpse, and she ran to greet her with a worried gasp.

“What is wrong? Where have you been?” Audr rubbed her arm absent mindedly, as if trying to will the warmth back into Aethelflaed's flesh.

Aethelflaed smiled wryly, remembering how their positions had been reversed not a day before.“I slept outside,” she said simply. Audr gave her a queer look. “I was avoiding Aethelred,” she explained.

Audr sighed, her face still drawn in worry as she led Aethelflaed close to the fire, and spooned a mug of warm broth from a simmering pot. “You could have caught your death, Lady.”

Aethelflaed laughed dryly. “I could have caught my death as easily in the hall, believe me.”

Audr gave her a reproachful look, and Aethelflaed wondered if the girl suspected that she had provoked a confrontation with Aethelred. She looked away, revealing nothing.

“Well the danger has passed now, at any rate,” Audr was saying. “At least for the time being.”

Aethelflaed found herself confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“Aethelred,” Audr said simply. “He left early this morning with half the guard. All the servants have been speaking about it since dawn.”

“He is gone?” Aethelflaed's mind reeled. She could not have hoped for a better outcome.

“Yes.” Audr smiled mischievously. “And he took _three_ pack horses _and_ a cart with him. I think he will be gone for a long while, don't you?” 

Aethelflaed was pleased, of course, to have Aegelsburgh back to herself. It was almost hard to believe that Aethelred would abandon his estate so easily, ceding ground to her when he despised her so greatly. So Aethelflaed also held his departure with tempered suspicion. She could not forget his voice, filled with malice, telling her that she would die for what she had done. The guard of the estate was significantly dwindled now, and Aethelflaed wondered at his motivations. Would he stage an attack while the defenses were weak? Would he orchestrate Aethelflaed's death as a tragic murder at the hands of brigands and enemies? Or did he simply fear her so much that he would rather run than share space with her?

But Aethelredhad left Deogol, the man that had befriended Birger, and in his absence, Aethelflaed promoted Deogol to head of the guard. She found Deogol to be smart and capable, and he had a strong rapport with the men that Aethelred had left remaining. But she would still need more, to swell the guard and secure the fortress. She ached for Erik when she thought of the dilemma and craved his council and experience. There was a strange sense of loneliness, in needing to command men and household both. It was not that she could not command the men herself – she could – but she still did not know who she could trust.

In the mean time, she expanded the shifts of the men so that no fewer than twenty were on guard at any time. She increased their rations of ale and meat and gave them all small gifts of silver in gratitude. And she attended to the other aspects of the household that she could control. The most pressing of those was the problem of Hilda. The woman had proven herself to be untrustworthy, and Aethelflaed could not abide the woman safely in her home any longer.

So two days after Aethelred's departure, she summoned the woman to the hall, and delivered her news with solemn composure.

“Hilda,” she said, as the woman bowed stiffly. “You must pack your bags and prepare for a journey.”

Hilda's eyes grew wide and round. “Why, Lady?”

“You are to go North, and West. To my estates at Saltwic. I fear you are needed there.”

“Needed...how?” Hilda was still reeling from shock, but Aethelflaed could hear the edge of temper in her voice.

“To attend to my household there, of course.” Aethelflaed smiled tightly. “You have run a tight ship here at Aegelsburgh, and I would have you do the same at Saltwic.”

“Lady, I -” Hilda stuttered slightly. “I would prefer to stay at Aegelsburgh, if it pleases your Lady.”

“But it does not, and your preference matters little. It is my command that you shall go to Saltwic. You will leave tomorrow.” Aethelflaed dismissed the woman with a cold nod.

So it was done. If she hadn't been before, Hilda was certainly Aethelflaed's enemy now. But Saltwic was a good distance away – it would likely take Hilda two days to cross the distance with her poor riding skills. And there was nothing Hilda could do about it either way.

In her place, Aethelflaed promoted one of the _wealh_ slave woman to assist her in managing the household. It was an unusual choice, she knew, but she had come to know the woman Brione in her time in the grubehauser, and had found her to be clever and skillful in her work and her demeanor. She was a natural commander, and the other _wealh_ women looked up to her and followed her direction as their _de facto_ leader. She was older than most of the women, with half-grown children who spent their days tending the estate's vast flocks. When Aethelflaed told her that she would be promoted, that she and her children would pass out of slavery and into the waged labor of the estate, she had not wept or thanked Aethelflaed for her kindness. Aethelflaed was glad for that – such a display would have certainly been embarrassing. But her eyes had flashed with a fierce surprise, and the pleasure of the news had glowed, barely concealed, on her curious, weathered face. Brione did not trust Aethelflaed, she knew, but she was loyal. And that was good enough for now.

Slowly, the household was coming to Aethelflaed's heel. Aethelred had certainly helped, by leaving so dramatically, practically surrendering his power to her. But she also felt the burn of pride in her own good work. Aethelred had even taken the priest Halig with him, so Aethelflaed was free of the man's dour hissing. Of course, that left the estate in a somewhat Godless state. But Aethelflaed went often into the small village outside of Aegelsburgh's walls to pray and attend service in the modest church there. The people of the village whispered wide-eyed to each other when she came, but she merely smiled at them, and gave pennies and bread to the children.

Such were her small pleasures, but none was so great as the pleasure of Uhtred's visit.

He arrived several days after Aethelred's departure, on horseback, with a small group of his usual men and warriors. Aethelflaed insisted that they all be fed and given ale in the main hall, and commanded for their horses to be watered and rested in the stables. They would be staying the night, resting before continuing their journey South to Wessex.

As soon as Uhtred had entered, his head bowed and his eyes flashing with his usual mix of humor and curiosity, Aethelflaed had forgotten the anger she felt for the man. He may have left her, alone and with no news of Erik, but at least he was well and had come to no harm. She had started to worry.

“I am sorry for my long absence, Lady,” he said, and she could see the sincerity on his face. “But I come bearing a message that I hope will erase all wrongdoing.”

Aethelflaed laughed with a small thrill of joy. “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Uhtred. I am glad that you are safe and well. I pray you will deliver your message over strong ale and warm meat at my table.”

“It would be an honor, Lady.”

So she had learned with wonder of Uhtred's strike against Siegfried's ships, and also of Erik's plan for her to come and treat with the men he had been trying to forge alliances with.

“Do you think it safe, Lord Uhtred? To cross Watling Street?” They were speaking in low tones at the head of the table, while Uhtred's men ate and jested around them. Deogol and Birger were eating with them as well, Aethelflaed's favored men treated to dine with the guests.

“It is a risk, Lady.” Uhtred's brow was creased with thought. “But it is always a risk. I think that Erik's plan is strong, and he has men enough to protect you.”

“But I must not be seen with his men in Bedaford, or we will raise suspicions.”

“Then bring your own men,” Uhtred suggested. “You have a garrison, no?”

“Aethelred has taken half the garrison. I know not where. I fear if I take too many men now, the fortress will be weakened.”

“You fear an attack? From whom?”

Aethelflaed sighed and looked away. “I do not know.” She pitched her voice even lower than it had been. “But Aethelred wishes me dead. I do know that.”

Uhtred's eyes went wide and his mouth tensed into a thin line. “Then you must go to Erik. He can send more men back with you, to swell your garrison.”

“But I cannot stay long, or I risk Aegelsburgh.”

“Then you must make it a swift visit.” Aethelflaed felt the heaviness in her heart then. It was always so, with Erik. They could never have true rest together, only stolen moments under the veil of secrecy. But it was necessary...for now.

“Then with your council, Lord Uhtred, that is what I shall do.”


	16. Chapter 16

Uhtred left the next day, and Aethelflaed set about planning her voyage to Bedaford. They would go in disguise, not bearing the sigils or standards of the Mercian nobility. She did not have enough men to flaunt her wealth and status and still remain protected. And she did not want such a story to spread – the one that would say that Aethelflaed of Wessex, daughter of Alfred, passed into Danish Mercia for reasons unknown. So their party would go discreetly, and she would hope to go unnoticed, and avoid any conflict on the road.

Even so, she took nearly a third of the remaining garrison with her – Deagol, Birger, and six other men who they deemed trustworthy. Still, she did not trust them enough to disclose the truth of their visit, or at least not the whole truth. Even Deagol remained in the dark about Erik and the true scope of her plans. But he watched her with curious eyes as she spoke to the assembled group in the hall, on the morning of their departure. They would go to Danish Mercia, she explained, to treat with the potential allies across Watling Street, and to gather men to swell the garrison.

They had nodded obediently, but Deagol pulled her aside afterwards, his voice low and questioning.

“The men will wonder why you go to Danish Mercia for men, rather than calling to your father King Alfred for aid.”

“And do you wonder that, Deagol?”

“Of course, Lady.” He smiled wanly. “But I know better than to ask it outright.”

Aethelflaed laughed at his jest, grateful for his honesty. “I am short on allies, Deagol. There are few men whom I can trust.” She gave him a hard look, weighing the man in a breath. “But there is such a man in Danish Mercia. He has risen trustworthy men for me.”

“Danish men?” Deagol's voice was even and controlled.

“Some, I am sure. Will that be a problem for you, Deagol?”

“No, Lady.” But his face was inscrutable.

They left that day – the men, Aethelflaed, and Audr as well. The women were covered in simple brown cloaks. The men had left their flashiest armor behind, although Deagol still wore his mail concealed under his quilted tunic. They would not be the most impressive cohort, arriving to treat with the Lords of Danish Mercia. But hopefully they would remain safe, and unharmed.

Aethelflaed brought a bag of silver, concealed within a larger careworn sack, its weight padded and muffled with old rags. The sack lay nestled in the saddle bags among bedrolls and furs, and it did not even jingle as they rode. Erik's family sword – the one that now belonged to the Aethelflaed - hung at her hip, its intricately carved sheath hidden by the folds of her gown and cloak. It was a comfort to feel it against her, an assurance of her own power to defend herself if she needed. And it felt like a talisman, a representation of her bond with Erik, a link drawing her back inexorably towards him.

They rode hard and fast through the day, stopping only briefly to water and rest the horses, and they crossed Watling Street with hours to spare before nightfall. The old Roman road was more busy with travelers than Aethelflaed had expected. But she remembered with a jolt, feeling slightly ashamed, that the days of Aerra Goela were upon them, and some folk would be traveling to gather with kin for fasting, feasting, and prayer in observance of _geol_ , the Christmastide. It seemed to Aethelflaed that she had slipped out of time, caught in the tide of her own plans and dreams. It did not help that she had slipped out of her faith, as well. But the world around her had surged forward anyway, and now the wheel was turning towards the new year. She would have to send a messenger to her parents, asking their forgiveness for her absence at the festival in Wintancester. She would have to see extra rations given to the slaves and servants as a gesture of goodwill, and hay portioned out in generosity to the townsfolk. She would have to see to it that gifts of silver be given to the town church and local monastery, and a Christmastide mass be held in her name. There would be much to do, when she returned from Bedaford.

But for now, her business lay across Watling Street, and they had nearly as much distance to ride East of the road as they had crossed to get there. The dark was deepening by the time they finally approached the outskirts of Bedaford, and Aethelflaed surmised that it would be wisest to camp the night in the woods outside the village and wait for news from Erik. Birger was sent in discreetly to seek his master, while Aethelflaed and Audr huddled together in a heap of furs next to a small fire, and the other men arrayed themselves as they saw fit.

Birger returned soon enough – alone, Aethelflaed was both relieved and disappointed to see. Of course she ached to see Erik, but she still did not know how much she could trust her Saxon guards and felt it wise to keep the secret of Erik close to her chest for the time being. So she spoke to Birger quietly and privately on his return, carving out a space on a log away from the main camp to hear his message.

“Lord Erik bids you to treat with the Lord Cuthbert,” Birger said. “He holds the small fortress just North of the Village. Erik advises you to go straight there – tonight if you wish it, and request his hospitality.”

Aethelflaed nodded, although she was not sure that Birger could see her movement in the darkness so far from the fire. The moonlight was weak and thin on the dark ground, and she could barely make on the shape of him in the low light.

“And Erik trusts this man, Cuthbert?”

“He believes him a man of honor, yes. And he is a Saxon, Lady. But he is not an ally yet. Lord Erik hopes you may have more luck convincing him.”

“But I am not to tell him...about Erik and I. Is that what Erik advises?” Aethelflaed felt frustrated and slightly flustered, trying to figure out the plan through Birger's messages. It would be easier to simply speak to Erik herself. But apparently that was not an option.

“Yes, Lady. He advises you keep the full truth concealed, for now at least.”

The conversation lapsed into silence, as Aethelflaed thought for a long moment.

“And you gave him the silver?” She spoke again. “And my request for trustworthy men – for the garrison?”

“Yes, Lady. And he will see to it that you return to Aegelsburg with the men you need.” Birger gave a muffled cough, as if reluctant to speak. “But the Lord Erik...he would not risk meeting with you in the village. He is well known in Bedaford and...he does not think it wise to treat with you openly...or even secretly....in the town. He fears the story would spread.”

Aethelflaed sighed. “And I cannot risk revealing him to my own men, either.” She felt the frustration rise in her chest. She wanted to break a stick or kick a log, like a petulant child. She restrained the impulse with effort.

Birger heard her bitter tone. “Perhaps you could meet somewhere else...away from the camp?” he suggested. And for what? A stolen kiss, an urgent hump, on the cold ground before they had to part again? Even that would be a risk - to steal away from her men in the night, to court their deepening suspicions when their doubts were already raised by her mysterious trip into Daneland. It was not worth it.

“I will go to Lord Cuthbert's in the morning.” It was all she said, all she could say. Birger grunted his approval, and they passed together back into the camp, to take their rest.


	17. Chapter 17

Cuthbert's hall was small but finely furnished, his yard swept clean, and his walls manned by warriors in brightly polished helmets. Aethelflaed felt rather grubby in comparison, even though she had changed into a finely woven gown in Mercian blue and adorned her wrists with golden arm bands. Her mantle was pinned with a delicate silver brooch in the shape of a swan, and Audr had rewoven her braids intricately, pooling them around her ears and tucking them partially below a pale woolen veil embroidered with red and gold thread. All of this finery was concealed beneath Aethelflaed's dun brown cloak, until she had passed inside Cuthbert's walls, and presented herself to the head of his household guard.

“I am Aetheflaed, Lady of the Mercians,” she stated honestly, boldly. “I have come in secrecy for my own protection, but arrive in peace and good will to speak with your master. I request the courtesy of his table, and the gift of his refreshment for my men, who have spent a hard night on cold ground to be here today.”

Cuthbert's man gave a deep bow at her words, and turned to present her message to his Lord. Soon, she was ushered inside, with Deagol, and another Saxon called Efferwic. Birger had not come with them, taking his leave to coordinate with Erik instead. He had already been within Cuthbert's hall once before, at Erik's side, and it would not be wise for him to show his face again in Aethelflaed's company. Audr, too, had stayed behind, as she was known in Bedaford to be a companion of Erik's. So it was only Saxons who accompanied Aethelflaed into Cuthbert's hall. Deagol and Efferwic disarmed themselves ceremoniously, but Aethelflaed was allowed to keep her blade at her side as a courtesy.

Cuthbert greeted her formally, and not without warmth. He was an older man, perhaps as old as her father, with thin gray hair cropped close to his scalp. His short white bead and deep gray eyes gave his thin, weathered face a hard look, but he bowed deeply when Aethelflaed entered and gestured for her to take her rest at his table.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” he said. “It is an honor to receive you in my hall.” He sat down beside her and poured her ale himself, then nodded to his servants to serve her companions in turn.

“I thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Lord Cuthbert. I am sure my visit must come as a surprise. I would have sent word of my arrival, but I fear I come in some secrecy.”

“Indeed, Lady.” Cuthbert took a sip of ale, and Aethelflaed mimicked him. “But if you come in peace, then I have no reason to deter you. Do you come on behalf of your husband, Lord Aethelred?”

Aethelflaed swallowed her ale slowly, taking the moment to think. “Your ale is delicious, Lord Cuthbert. Does your wife brew it?” His eyes narrowed, even as he gave a thin smile. She knew her evasion did not go unnoticed, but he did not press her. Instead, he gestured again to his servants, who brought bowls of warm stew and trenchers of bread to the table. Aethelflaed felt her famished stomach rumble with need.

“No.” Cuthbert answered finally, a small sadness in his voice. “I've been a widower these two years past. I suppose I should take another wife of these days. My ale has not suffered, I suppose, but in other respects...I fear my household could use a woman.” He laughed softly as he spoke, and Aethelflaed returned his gentle honesty with a smile. But when he spoke again, his eyes were sharp and piercing. “And you..have not answered my question, Lady.” The reprimand was clear in his voice. “Do you come on behalf of your husband?”

“I come on behalf of Mercia,” she said simply, and Cuthbert nodded, his face unreadable.

“It is an uncommon pleasure for the Lady of the Mercians to pass over Watling Street and into the halls of Daneland, as you undoubtedly already know. You must come with a worthy purpose.”

Aethelflaed nodded. _So the business would begin in earnest._ “It is true,” she said. “I am grieved at the rift in our country. I am grieved that Mercians dwell on both sides of Watling Street, unprotected by a unified leader. I worry for the prosperity of our people, when there is no hope for peace.”

Cuthbert made a low sound in his throat and looked at her with curiosity in his eyes. “Some would call this peace.”

“And yet, Earl Siegfried readies to march, and he will remake Danish Mercia in his own ideal. I do not think it will be a peaceful endeavor.”

“Not for those who stand against him.”

They were negotiating now, testing themselves against each other, seeking out weakness and hoping to win respect. Aethelflaed enjoyed the game.

“The Viking lords have crashed against these shores for many years now. There is always a new leader who will conquer the island with enough men, and ships, and silver. Most of them are dead and gone. But Alfred of Wessex has reigned for nearly twenty years. He holds Mercia and Kent as well. Even were he not my father, I would bet my life on Alfred's peace over Siegfried's war.”

“But he is your father. And he holds Mercia, in part, because of you.”

Aethelflaed smiled and gave a small nod. “So you see now why I come.” They had bantered for long enough, it was time for the truth. “I would hold Mercia as one – Saxon and Dane. I would claim back some safety for our people in these lands.” Cuthbert was a Saxon, even if he treated with Danes. And Aethelflaed could cast no judgment herself.

“You would have the Danes bow to Saxon leadership. They will never abide it.”

“You are Saxon lord, are you not? And yet you have Danes who serve you. You have not destroyed each other yet.”

“But what you suggest would erase the terms of Wedmore. It is a shaky peace, but it is peace nonetheless. What you suggest is the way to war.”

Aethelflaed was shaking her head. “I would not erase Wedmore, I would remake it. Re-forge it into something stronger, where Saxons and Danes need not be enemies, but kin. Bound together.” She spoke with passion, and she noticed that Cuthbert's eyes had grown slightly wide and then narrowed at her words. _What was the man thinking?_

“It is a bold plan, Lady,” he said thoughtfully, easing back and sipping his ale. “It could work, with the right allies.” He was eyeing her carefully now, and she kept her face drawn and mild in response to his regard.

“I would have you as my ally, Lord Cuthbert. I have heard you are a man of honor. And your support would not go without reward. Your lands could extend across Watling Street, and your coffers could swell with the taxes and tariffs from the traders who travel that route in the summer months. Such a lordship would certainly attract an esteemed wife – with lands and wealth – to warm your hall. All this could be possible, with the peace of Alfred.”

“Hmm.” Cuthbert's face was drawn. “Is that what you offer? The peace of Alfred? I was under the impression that Alfred already had what he wanted. He relinquished Danish Mercia years ago, and has done little to recover it since. How can I be sure that you speak for your father?”

It was a bold question, and they both knew it. Cuthbert was challenging her honesty, and he was right to do so. As things stood, Aethelflaed did act against her father. He would never support her alliance with Erik, and already held control over Mercia through her marriage to Aethelred. If her plan were to succeed, she would need to force Alfred's hand before all was said and done. And Alfred was not a man who often allowed his hand to be forced. Even so, she smiled at Cuthbert, and gave her honesty as best she could.

“You cannot, I suppose. But do not forget that Alfred paid a king's ransom for his daughter's life. The kinship of Wessex is deeply rooted. As the kinship of Mercia will be, if we succeed.”

Cuthbert laughed dryly, and nodded. It seemed to be his favored response. Aetheflaed continued speaking. “You will want some time to consider, no doubt. I will be in Bedaford until tomorrow, and then I will retreat to my estate at Aegelsburgh. I will look forward to hearing your answer.”

“I would offer you the hospitality and the safety of my hall - for yourself and your men – to pass the night, but --”

“But I would say it is unwise.” Aethelflaed smiled. “With gratitude for the offer.”

Cuthbert nodded tightly, his mouth curved in a thin smile. “You keep your secrets close, Lady.”

“I have spoken nothing but truth to you, Lord Cuthbert. It is not you who rises my caution. But my...ordeals of late have made me more vigilant than I once was.”

“Of course, Lady.” Cuthbert sat pensively for several long moments before he spoke again.

“I should tell you, Lady, that another came to me with a similar proposal, not yet a moon past. Lord Erik Thurgilson – your captor, if the stories are true.” He watched her face closely as he spoke.

Aethelflaed gave a careless shrug. “I did not come to know the man much, during my time at Beamfleot. But from what I did learn of him, I think he is honorable enough – for a North man. He could be an enemy, or an ally. Only time will tell.” And so she did speak a lie, even if it was well-meant.

“Indeed, Lady.”


	18. Chapter 18

Erik was restless and frustrated. Aethelflaed had been in Bedaford – or at least outside of Bedaford – for almost a day, and he still had not be able to see her. He drank with Birger, hoping to swallow his frustration and impatience alongside the weak ale. They rested in the small common room of the quarters Erik maintained in Bedaford. It was little more than a cottage, but the roof didn't leak, and the front door was strong and bar-able. Erik dreamt of Aethelflaed sneaking there in the night, stealing into his home under cover of darkness and sharing the small mat he made for his bed, where they could be easy and loose in their loving until morning.

But it made no sense, he knew. She had her own men to command, men whose trust and loyalty she still hoped to win. And she could not be seen with Erik in the village. So he would have to quell his need, and think with his head instead of his cock, as his brother would have said. He drank to Siegfried, and his advice, with a mix of mockery and regret.

“She treats with Cuthbert now,” Birger explained. “But then she must head back to Aegelsburgh. The garrison is weak, Aethelred has left with most of the men, and the fortress in under-defended as long as she tarries here.”

Erik sighed. “I will send men back with her. Twenty, I can spare, I think.” It would be the majority of his sworn men and burgeoning guard in Bedaford. But he could raise more men. And Aethelflaed's safety was tantamount. “The only question is who amongst our pack of heathen hounds can be trusted.” He shared a wry smile with Birger. Dagfinn and Birger knew the full truth, of course, and Sig was now in on the secret as well. But few of the others knew that he was bound to the Lady of the Mercians. He trusted many of them with his own life, but he did not necessarily trust them with Aethelflaed's life...or her honor.

Birger lapsed into thoughtful silence for several long moments before he spoke. “I've known Helgi since I was a boy,” he said. “He is as good as a brother. And he is sworn in kinship and oath to Alfvin and Leif.”

Erik nodded. They were all honorable men, strong fighters already adorned with the spoils of their raids and battles. But they were not his sworn oath men yet. There were five, besides Dagfinn and Birger, who had sworn to him formally already. Sig and his brother Magni, as well as three others – Danes from East Anglia who had once been tempted by Siegfried's promise of plunder, and now thrilled to swear themselves to his brother, risen from the brink of the death. Together with Birger's friends, that made nine men. Dagfinn would have to stay behind and help to maintain Erik's guard in Bedaford.

As they drained their ale, they bantered and argued over the remaining men, winnowing down the roster to those who would be trusted to go with Aethelflaed. Erik ached as he thought of it, his finest men sent away with his woman, and himself remaining behind, hiding in the shadows. Birger's words stirred him out of his sour thoughts.

“You should come with us, Lord.”

“What?”

“You should accompany the men to Aegelsburgh, with Aethelflaed. They will see that you remain in command, and you will be more assured of their loyalty.”

Erik blinked. His mind stuttered. “But...that would defeat the purpose of our secrecy.”

“Not if you maintain the pretense. You are just another Dane, no?”

Erik laughed then. “Just another sworn man of the mysterious ally of Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians.”

“Few will recognize you outside of Bedaford. Send the host ahead, and meet with us later, closer to Watling Street.”

Erik felt his heart rise. He would be able to see her. He would be able to assure himself of her safety. He would be able to have her maybe – in secrecy, as was always the case. But even so, it would quell the ache in his gut.

“It's a good idea, Birger.” He laughed, lightheartedly. “But you must call me Thurgil. And do not call me Lord. Tell the men.”

“Yes, Thurgil.” They grinned together, and drank to the promise of their plan.

Together, Erik, Birger, and Dagfinn called on the men they had chosen, hunting them down at their haunts in the town, through hovels and whore houses, taverns and fighting squares. It was more complicated than calling them to gather at Erik's home, but also less conspicuous. To each man, Erik delivered a gift of silver, buoyed by Aethelflaed's horde, and instructions to gather in the woodland Southwest of the town, where Birger said Aethelflaed made her camp. They would meet Birger there in the morning, and would come prepared to dwell in Saxon Mercia for some time, in service to the Lady of the Mercians. Those who had doubts held their tongues, and those who didn't laughed recklessly at the strange, unfathomable orders they were given. And they were all told to obey Erik's command without calling him Lord, and to refer to him only as Thurgil. It was the kind of plan that stirred a Dane's heart in the pursuit of carefree adventure, and Erik was pleased to see his men rise to the challenge.

But Erik passed the time restlessly, wondering how Aethelflaed's meeting with Cuthbert had passed, and whether her Saxon men would balk at the swelling of their ranks twice over with wily Danes. Birger brought news from Aethelflaed later that evening, sharing that the meeting with Cuthbert had gone well. She had been well-received and respected, he said, but had left with no firm promise of aid. It was as much as they could hope, Erik supposed. But he lay awake for most of the night, stirring over all the small sheets and rivets of their plans, wondering where the weakness lay, where the sword could slice through and find flesh.

In the morning, he was startled and slightly worried to receive a summons from Cuthbert himself – a messenger sent to call Erik to the man's hall. He hastened there, on his black stallion, adorned in all the warlord finery he could muster from his meager horde. Cuthbert welcomed him with his customary wary eyes and small smile playing around his lips.

Erik bowed, and greeted the man with formality, before speaking plainly. He had little time for banter and games. “Have you reconsidered my proposal, Lord Cuthbert?”

Cuthbert laughed and surveyed Erik with his deep, gray eyes. “So. You have powerful allies, indeed, it would seem.”

Erik bowed slightly again, hiding his slight confusion. “I trust in my friends across Watling Street.”

“And your friends lead all the way to Wintancester, it would seem.”

Erik blinked, feigning ignorance. “I am not sure that I catch your meaning, Lord.”

“You're a clever rogue, I see that now.” Cuthbert was smiling as he spoke, although the words unnerved Erik slightly.

“So, you will join me? You will rally your men against Siegfried?”

“Yes. Yes, I will join you. My men will fight beside you when Siegfried marches – beside you and your _allies_.”

“That is welcome news, Lord Cuthbert. I would wish to bind the agreement with a shared drink, but I fear I am required elsewhere, and imminently.” He did not wish to sour the man's trust, but he wished to miss joining Aethelflaed's party even less.

Cuthbert took a sip of his ale horn and handed it to Erik without ceremony. “I believe we may drink, and bind our agreement, and deliver you to your...engagement, all without worry for decorum.”

Erik laughed. “Indeed, Lord Cuthbert.” He accepted the ale horn and drank deeply from it, before pounding it down on the table. “To our alliance. And to a unified Mercia.”

Cuthbert looked at Erik, his eyes sharp and unreadable. Erik felt the man's gaze slice right through him. “I do not enjoy being lied to, Lord Erik.” Erik felt his stomach tense and his pulse quicken. “But I am not a man who believes trickery is always the enemy of honor.” Erik stayed silent, drawing the man to finish his small speech. “I hope you will not find a reason to trick me again.”

Erik could not help but smile at the man's cleverness. “It is not my intention.”

They nodded at each other, and Erik almost turned to leave, but Cuthbert stopped him with another word. 

“One more thing, Lord Erik. There are some in the South who would join you, I think. But the Lords of the Northern boroughs are hard and brutal men. They will have no patience for you – or for your Lady.”

Erik could do nothing but smile wryly and nod before taking his leave.

It was little wonder that Cuthbert had sniffed out the ruse. He was sharp as a finely honed blade, Erik knew. But Erik did not mind Cuthbert's discovery, even though it seemed to make a mockery of all of Erik and Aethelflaed's hard work in concealing the truth. He trusted the man, although he could not say why. Perhaps it was the fact that he had entertained Aethelflaed, a woman alone from her husband, and treated with her without bullying or lechery. Perhaps it was simply the man's open honesty. Erik did not believe he would betray them, or spread their story, especially when Erik himself refused to explicitly confirm it. The truth of Erik and Aethelflaed's relationship and alliance was a powerful tool – and a weapon. Revealed at the right time and place, it could strike a shocking blow against their enemies. But if it was revealed too soon, it could destroy their plans in a breath. Erik chose to trust in Cuthbert's discretion, and so celebrated their small victory. They needed all the allies they could get.

By the time that Erik returned to the village, the men had taken their leave, one by one, sifting out of the town inconspicuously. Erik himself gathered his weapons and gear, securing his stores in his saddle bags, and giving his final orders to Dagfinn with the rest of Aethelflaed's silver. Then he drew his dark cloak and hood around himself, mounted his stallion, and left to meet his men – and his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit that this section is a bit bogged down. I think I've drawn it out too much, but have struggled figuring out how to edit and pare it down. I promise that things move faster in the next few chapters.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic violence

Aethelflaed rode, her body tense and sharp-edged as a chiseled jewel among the rustling unease of her column of men. Saxons and Danes rode warily alongside each other, and Aethelflaed felt, in truth, wary of them all. They were her men, she knew – or at least they were supposed to be. But she barely knew any of them. Yet they held her life in their hands, and she held the peace between them within her tenuous command.

Deagol had bristled slightly when the Danes first arrived, nearly twenty fighting men armed to the teeth and arrayed in Heathen dress. Deagol's prejudices were bred into him since birth, she imagined, just as hers had been, and it would take a true trial to melt them. But even as the day progressed, she watched her guardsman ease. Birger bantered calmly and easily with Danes, treating them as friends and brothers. And Deagol trusted Birger, and soon began to let himself be drawn into their camaraderie. The other Saxons still held themselves aloof, remaining tense and on-edge throughout the morning. They drew their swords and arrayed themselves in defensive position when the rider approached from the East at midday. But Aethelflaed dispersed their tension with a wave of her hand and turned her horse towards the rear of the column to meet him. It was Erik, she knew – from the night black sheen of his stallion, to the angle of his body in the saddle, and he approached, her mouth grew dry with nervous anticipation. She had heard his plan, whispered quickly and tensely by Birger, and it filled her with anxiety even her heart surged with joy to hear it. It was a risk, accepting him openly into the column. She could only hope it would be worth it.

He pulled down his hood as he approached, and she could not help smiling as she took in his face, handsome and weathered as always.

“Lady,” he said, his eyes twinkling roguishly. The breath pooled visibly from his mouth as he spoke. A trick of the air, and the cold, that made her think only of his mouth, and his warm lips on her skin. “My name is Thurgil. I have come to join your party. Apologies on the delay in my arrival. But I command these men, on behalf of my Lord, and at your behest, Lady.”

Aethelflaed suppressed her smile. “You are welcome, Thurgil, and we are glad for your command.”

Erik bowed formally and spurred his horse forward to flank the line. Aethelflaed turned reluctantly, willing her eyes away from the sight of him, taut and proud on his fine horse, his blond hair glinting in the thin sunlight. She continued forward, nestled within the column, with Saxons before her and Danes behind, and Erik like a wandering sun, burning at the edge of her awareness wherever he went. She wondered if his eyes followed her as well, catching her when her back was turned, tracing the flow of her body in his mind like a bank holds the flow of a stream. After hours of riding, the rock of the horse beneath her and the rhythm of her own riled lust lulled her into a state of lazy ease and comfortable fatigue.

So it was a surprise when the attack came.

The volley of arrows came first, a bloody hail from the trees to the Southeast, on the column's left side. Erik was near the front of the line when the arrows fell, but Birger rode even further ahead of him. Erik saw one arrow hit the man, high in the muscle of his arm, and the impact threw him from his horse. But Birger soon rose, shock and anger etched on his face, and he broke the arrow shaft off with a short, sharp yell.

The other men were in a slight panic, reeling and searching for the source of the attack. Erik was in a panic too, and he looked around wildly for Aethelflaed. He saw her, retreating from the wood's edge and unharmed by the hail of arrows. He felt his relief rise as his sense returned. He drew himself together and shouted his command: “Retreat! Away from the trees!” He followed Aethelflaed's lead, spurring his horse Northward up a small slope to a low, open crest. The men followed, and another volley of arrows pursued them. One was taken in the back, a Saxon from Aethelflaed's guard. Erik saw his face white and wild with fear as he fell forward and then slumped, lifeless, onto the ground. His panicked horse continued running, its gray flanks smeared with blood.

The other men were faster, and the remaining arrows fell harmlessly, burying themselves in the half frozen Earth. But now the attackers had abandoned their bows and were running from the woods. They sprinted towards the crowd of horsemen, who were still regrouping from the first ambush and had not yet organized a defense.

“Hold!” Erik cried, his voice hoarse and fierce. “Shields!” Erik swung his own shield from his saddle, gripping it in his left arm. His ax was held tightly in his right hand. His side had healed enough that he felt no pain on lifting it. But he doubted the pain would remain at bay once he started to fight. He noticed then that the approaching men were a ragged bunch. They attacked on foot, wielding rusty axes and short seax swords. One man carried a spear, and threw it inexpertly at the line of horsemen. Aethelflaed's man Deagol dodged and caught the spear easily with a quick move, then threw it back, lancing the man through the gut. The attackers numbered twenty or so, woodland outlaws and brigands, Erik assumed. He felt his worry ebb – these men would never hold against his own.

But then he saw the warrior. The man prowled almost out of sight, holding himself back from the attack along the line of trees. Even in the cloud-shrouded sunlight, Erik could see the glint of his mail and the long sword that he held unsheathed in front of him. Erik understood then – the ragged vanguard was just a diversion. The warrior was the true danger.

He reeled, looking back towards Aethelflaed. In his small moment of distraction, the attackers had merged into the line of horsemen, their short swords aimed for the legs and flanks of the horses, their throats loosed with screeching battle cries. One of the Danes had his horse cut from under him, but he threw himself from the saddle and rolled expertly away from the falling beast. Erik saw with a wrench of fear that Aethelflaed had been pulled from her horse, and he pushed through the press of horses and men to defend her. But she had beaten back her attacker, Bjarta Blotha in hand, and Birger and Sig swarmed around her and Audr, defending the women and cutting down the attackers like reapers amid the corn.

That's when Erik felt the sway and buckle of his own horse beneath him, and realized the tendon of the black stallion's front right leg had been cut by a grinning, gap toothed man with matted hair and a rusty seax. Erik gave a yell of fury and swiped across the man's face with his ax, cleaving his skull from ear to throat. The impact of the blow sent a shock of pain up through his arm, but it vanished quickly. The rush and roar of the battle surged in his blood and took control.

He dismounted, a pang in his heart for his wounded mount, and took down two more men in the fray. He had lost track of the warrior, who could no longer be seen at the edge of the woods. But Birger, Sig, and Aethelflaed still held strong, and he surged towards them. The attackers were dying left and right on the horsemen's swords, and the smell of blood and loosed bowels started to fill the air. The battle would soon be over.

But then Erik felt the bite of steel against the back of his neck, the tip of a sword held below his skull. He stilled, his heart pounding and his gut cold.

“You look familiar, Dane.” He did not see the man, but he was certain it was the warrior. “When I take your severed head to my Lord, maybe he will tell me who you are.”

Erik spat. “And who is your master?” His voice was savage. The man only laughed, and said nothing. Erik had thought the battle was over, but now he saw another band of attackers surge from the wood's edge. Perhaps they had waited for a signal and came now in a second onslaught. Erik's men reeled and regrouped to meet the new threat. No one noticed that he stood with a sword to his neck.

The warrior behind him screamed at the attacking men. “Kill the woman! Kill her! That is all that matters!”

Erik's blood turned to ice at the man's words. He had thought they intended to capture Aetheflaed, and even that possibility had been unbearable to fathom. Aethelflaed heard the man's cry and turned to look at him, wide-eyed. She saw Erik and gave a sharp cry of fear. Her face told him all he needed to know, as he felt the air stir and swirl behind him. The warrior was raising his sword to strike at Erik's neck, but Erik was quicker. He dodged and spun, and met the sword with his shield, swinging his ax up towards the man's belly. But Erik's right arm was weak and unpracticed and the blow missed, as the warrior easily spun away, laughing recklessly. Now it was a true fight, and Erik dropped his ax in favor of his sword, which was short and light enough to wield with less effort, although the other man's sword had a longer reach. They danced around each other, parrying blows, and it soon became clear that the other man was much stronger. He knew it too, and lunged more fiercely and savagely, beating his sword against Erik's and laughing as Erik's arm faltered and he began to favor his shield more and more. But Erik saw the confidence overtake him, and watched as his movements became more careless, and less measured. Erik feigned then, overexaggerating the weakness of his arm, limping slightly backwards as if seeking a reprieve. The man laughed, his sword arm outstretched, his posture loose and undefended, and Erik spun in one quick and breathless move and brought his sword down on the man's outstretched wrist.

Erik's sword was sharp, but the blow did not cut clean through. Instead the man's wrist crunched beneath Erik's iron, his hand crumpling and his sword falling to the ground. His wrist hung, half severed. The man screamed, a low, loud, wrenching sound, and Erik saw the whites of his eyes and the scarred skin of his face in sharp clarity as the moment stretched. Then he plunged his sword into the man's throat, severing his scream, and his life.

The man died quickly, and Erik felt the fight seep from his body like blood from a corpse. He ached wickedly, and the pain in his side was so fierce that he thought for a moment he had been rewounded. But his tunic and leather jerkin were dry and bloodless. It was only the old ache of severed muscles, still half knitted and screaming like hot hissing steel through his veins.

The battle was all but over. Even the fresh group of attackers had been little work for the mounted warriors. Only three of the outlaws remained alive, surrounded by Erik's men. The rugged band had killed or maimed several of the party's horses – a substantial loss -but only one warrior had been killed: the Saxon guard scythed down by an arrow. Erik strode over to the remaining cluster of men. Their faces were defiant, even as they were rent with fear and the knowledge of their own inevitable deaths.

“Leave one alive,” he commanded flatly. “And question him.” Sig and Deagol carried out his order, and he heard the screams of the dying men even as he turned to survey the rest of the party. Audr was attending to Birger's arm, digging the arrow head from his muscle as he muffled his screams into a leather mouthguard. Birger would be well attended in Audr's care, Erik knew. But he only had eyes for Aethelflaed.

She was standing by her horse, the chestnut mare, who was blessedly uninjured. Aethelflaed stroked the mare's side, calming her with gentle words. Perhaps she was trying to calm herself as well. Her face was pale and bloodless, and her eyes wide, constantly flicking up to survey around her as if she feared another attack. Her veil and cloak were discarded, her dark hair exposed and raggedly askew, and one side of her riding gown was tattered and soiled with someone else's blood. But otherwise she was poised and constrained, her voice low and unpanicked as she murmured to the mare. Erik marveled at her bravery, and her composure, at the profound core of strength that resided within her. It was not quite the strength of a warrior – that brittle strength of over tempered iron so often found in fighting men. It was a different kind of strength – like the strength of a tree that can bow and bend beneath the plowing wind and the weight of snow and never break. It was like the strength of a skald's fingers, trained to pluck the beauty from his harp strings, who even in fumbling, finds the next notes and continues the song. Erik was in awe of that strength, and the woman who wielded it, and the fact that she turned towards him, with love, and relief, and need in her eyes.

But one of her Saxon guards stood close, protectively, defending her in the case of any future danger. Erik was grateful for his concern, and also cursed him, for he could not pull her to him and hold her body against his own. He could not whisper his love and gratitude into her sea-dark hair. He could only bow, formally, and greet her as a sworn man would.

“Are you well, Lady?” He asked, and he remembered how he had asked the same question once before, with her body naked and open beneath him, as he plowed inside of her and heard her cries of pleasure. Even in his weariness and with the searing, aching pain of his body, he still felt the lust rise within him. It was often the case after battle. Even as he dodged death and dealt killing blows, his cock wished to remind him that he was alive. And Aethelflaed seemed flushed with need as well.

“I am well, Thurgil. Thank you.” She spoke demurely, her face turned downwards. But even in her performance of modesty, her eyes raked up to meet his, tracing his face and his body, and driving into him with pressing force. Erik felt the need pulse through him, and he had to bite back the growl that wished to rise in his throat.

“I am glad to hear it, Lady.” He sighed, and looked away from her face, breaking the thread of tension that stretched between them, or maybe re-spooling it for later. “We will need to kill the maimed horses,” he said regretfully, and noticed Aethelflaed's body shift and stiffen. The moment had passed, as they moved to discuss what needed to be done. “And the dead man...your dead man...”

“We will bring him back to Aegelsburgh,” she commanded. “For a Christian burial.”

“As you wish, Lady.” He bowed formally again and turned away from her reluctantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot more written and am updating pretty often, but now it is time for my regularly scheduled request for comments! What do you love? What do you hate? It is lonely in my Last Kingdom - loving world these days. Are you excited for Season 4? It's coming out next month! 
> 
> I'd love to connect with you if you're reading the story! It gives my typing fingers life...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of violence, smut

The reprieved man gave his story freely, without need for torture, which Erik was grateful for. The man had no loyalty to the warrior, who had promised him and his companions silver, if only they helped him kill the woman in the riding party heading Southwest from Watling Street. He did not know the warrior's name, or whom he served, only that he was a Saxon, and that he had come from the South.

The man's throat was slit, quickly and cleanly, and he was piled with the rest of the corpses in the natural ditch-like hollow that ran along the wood's edge. The warrior was stripped of his mail and weapons and piled unceremoniously with the ragged outlaws. Erik laid claim to his mail coat – he had left his own when he fled Beamfleot, and it was his by right of the kill. But he did not want the man's weapons – he gifted the man's sword to Birger, and his ax to Sig, to the men's surprise and pleasure.

They had to kill three horses as well, in addition to the two that had been slain in the battle, and the party continued to Aegelsburgh more densely packed on their mounts than they had been before. Audr rode with Birger, and Aethelflaed shared a mount with Deagol. Erik had the sense to feel slightly ashamed at his own jealously, even as it roiled bitterly in his gut. Erik's own mount had needed to be killed, to his grief, and he rode Aethelflaed's chestnut mare in her place. One man requisitioned the dead man's horse, with his corpse slung across the rump. That left four men forced to share two horses together. Erik commanded his Danes to release their pride, and silenced all suggestions and shaming jests of _ergi_ with withering glares. The last thing they needed was a duel over a Dane's honor. They made slow progress as it was, with their heavily weighted horses and the wounded and weary men, and returned to Aegelsburg after dark, travel worn and famished.

Aethelflaed was relieved to find that Aethelred had not returned. They had only been gone for two nights, but she had still worried as they approached the walls of Aegelsburgh. She had imagined being barred from the gates, Aethelred's men raining their party with arrows, as the attackers had done earlier. She was exhausted, still trying to ease from the shock and panic of the ambush. She needed a full belly, and a warm bed. She needed Erik's arms around her.

But they were welcomed into the gates, and Aethelflaed was relieved when Deagol and Erik attended to the necessary commands. So the horses were stabled, and the corpse of the dead man was relinquished to the chapel, and ale and stew were called for to feed the hungry men, and all Aethelflaed had to do was stumble wearily to her own chamber. Brione came in some time later – the _wealh_ woman who now managed Aethelflaed's household. She brought warm broth and bread, and helped Aethelflaed to undress from her ragged, blood stained clothes. Aethelflaed filled her belly, as Brione unwound and combed her tangled hair, and sponged her neck and face of road dust and grime. It was the sort of thing that Audr would do, but Aethelflaed was grateful for Brione's help. Audr would need her own rest, and would find her bed elsewhere tonight, Aethelflaed was certain.

Before the woman turned to leave, Aethelflaed gave her final commands. “The men should sleep in the hall, Brione. See to it that they have furs for their beds, and hot fires in the grates through the night.”

“Yes, Lady.”

“But keep my corridor dark, with the curtains drawn,” she added. “And make sure all other lights besides the fires are extinguished in the hall. And do not come to feed my fire in the night.”

Brione did not question Aethelflaed's mysterious commands. She only bowed neatly and then was gone.

Erik could have slept standing up, he thought. He was saddle sore and battle worn, blood weary, and simply exhausted by the trial and anxiety of the day. If he had only needed to defend himself, and his men, he might have passed through the fight with only the wear and tear of his body. But his fear for Aethelflaed had raged through him, ravaging his nerves so that he still felt it like a tremor inside of him. He had concealed it well, playing the strong leader, and the performance of ease had worn him down even more. Now he saw to the men, making sure they were fed and watered, and rested in the hall on thick, warm furs, and still he could not take his rest. Instead he waited, as they bantered and jested, then grumbled, and finally fell, snoring into their sleep. He lay awake, focusing on the ache and sear in his chest to keep him from his own dreams, until a servant came through, stoking up the fires and extinguishing the torch lights before finding her own bed. He waited until the only sounds in the hall were those of heavy, even breaths, unbroken by stirring and fidgeting bodies. And then he stole up, as quiet as a mouse, and wound his way to the thick-curtained corridor where he had watched Aethelflaed disappear earlier. It was pitch dark, and he dragged his hand along the wall to guide his way, until he felt the gap and rim of a door hole, and the shape of a carved wooden handle and latch. He took a breath and entered.

It was dark in her chamber as well, but a fire still burnt in her own grate, casting sun gold flares of light and shadow on the walls and the curtains of her bed. She was dead asleep, and did not stir as he entered. He did not wish to wake her, or to scare her, and in a small moment of doubt, he hoped that he was welcome. But she had left her corridor dark and shrouded, and there was only one reason he could imagine she had done so. It was warm in the chamber, warmer than he had expected, and he pulled off his thick woolen tunic before sliding carefully into the bed beside her. She stirred slightly, but did not wake, and he watched her for several long moments in the low light of the fire.

Her hair was unbound and splayed wildly across her pale face. She was clad in a light woolen shift, and he could see the rise and curve of her chest beneath it as her breath surged and fell. There was a slight bruise on the bone of her cheek which he had not noticed before. Had she gotten it in the fight? Or was it from earlier... _from Aethelred_? He could not restrain himself anymore. He gathered her close, holding her against him so that her back nestled against his front, and his arms encircled her in a protective embrace. 

She did wake then, but she did not startle or pull from him, as he had feared. She only sighed, as if in relief, and pushed back against him, her body loose and heavy against his own. Erik brought his hand to smooth back the hair from her face and trace the outline of her lips, and buried his own face in her neck.

Her voice was quiet and gentle as she spoke, as if she passed somewhere between sleep and waking. “Erik...”

He only groaned his response against the soft skin of her neck. The weariness was overtaking him.

“Will you stay, Erik?” She asked.

“For how long?” He was confused. She looked up at him, craning her neck away from his face so that she could see him. Her eyes were wide and sad and needful.

“I mean...will you stay the night? In my bed? Do not leave Erik....please. I know it is a risk, but...I need you to stay.”

He only pulled her closer and held her body firm against him. He would not leave. He would wake with her, warm and heavy in his arms. Some things were worth the risk.

He did not wake with her in his arms. Rather, he stirred to see her watching him, in the low light of pre-dawn. The room had chilled in the night and the cold had stiffened his muscles so that they ached wickedly. But Aethelflaed had pulled the cover over his bare chest and now watched him calmly, belly down on her pillow, her hands nested to prop up her head. A thin smile played around her lips.

“What are you thinking?” Erik spoke sleepily. He did not move to hold her, he did not risk releasing the warmth of the cover. But he propped his good arm beneath his head to see her better, as he lay on his back opposite her.

Aethelflaed let out a breath. “I am thinking that it would be my fault, if you had been killed yesterday.” She looked away. “It was my fault...that my man lost his life.” Erik noticed the tension in her body then, the pain barely concealed beneath the lines of her face.

“What you do mean?” He did reach out to touch her then, with his aching arm, cupping the curve of her face in his hand. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch for a moment, before pulling away. Erik's hand fell.

“There is something I need to tell you. I fear you won't like it.”

Erik struggled up, the sleepy relaxation of his body draining rapidly. He sat up, leaning against the back of the bed, and looked at her intently. “What is it? Do you...do you know who sent the attack?”

She sighed again. “I cannot be certain. But I know that Aethelred wishes me dead.”

Erik measured his breath, trying to brush off his concern. “Why would he want you killed? He just helped to pay a king's ransom for you...and your father...”

“Aethelred moves against my father, I am sure of it.” She interrupted, forcefully. “I am only useful to him for as long as his plans stay secret. Even then - an accident, a murder by brigands on the road...it would be hard to prove Aethelred's involvement.”

“But why? There are easier ways to get rid of a wife, if he wishes it so much.”

Aethelflaed looked at him and he saw a deep fear in her face that startled him.

“I...threatened him, Erik. I...” she struggled to get the words out, as if each was a pain. “I went into his chamber at night...and I woke him...” Erik swallowed. “And I put a knife to his balls and threatened to geld him if he ever hurt me or Audr again!”

The final words came out in a rush and she finished by burying her face dramatically in her pillow, hiding from his gaze. Erik’s hand fluttered, bemused, to land on the top of her head and stroke her hair absent-mindedly.

“Aetheflaed...” There was a note of wonder in his voice, he noticed.

“Do not be angry!” Her voice was muffled against her pillow, her face still buried in its softness. “He beat Audr, and I could not...I could not let him...”

“I am not angry.”

She looked up slowly, revealing only her eyes under the curtain of her dark hair. “I fear I have made a terrible mess, Erik.” Her voice was small. “In truth, I am angry with myself.”

Erik laughed lightly, not in mockery of her fear, but in awe of her honesty. He pulled her towards him, so that she lay nestled in the crook of his strong arm.

“You drove Aethelred from this hall! You scared him so much that he fled his own home! I think you did well, aelska.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Aethelflaed was tracing her fingers along his chest, her mouth pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. The feeling of it set his cock stirring, and he pulled her closer.

“I wish you could stay.” Her mouth craned towards his neck now, her hand stroking his face, brushing his lips, and her leg had slipped between his own. She brought her knee up so it rocked, very gently, against the stiffness of him. He groaned, and found the hem of her shift, rucking it up to her waist, so that he could run his hands along the smoothness of her thighs. “It is lonely, without the comfort of your...counsel.”

She sat astride him now, fidgeting playfully with the ties of his trues. He did not want to take her with forceful need, he could not have, even if he had wanted to. His body was so weak and sore. But she did not control him either, or stay his hands from wandering to pull the neck of her shift down over her shoulders, or push him back when he leaned to kiss her beneath her collarbone and cup her breast firmly in his hand.

They loved slowly and tenderly. He was not the cleaving prow of the ship, and she was not the water, parting to his need. Rather, they loved like the wind and grain, bowing and sighing against the other, swaying and swayed by each other in turn. At first she sat naked on top of him, her shift and his trues abandoned. She rocked against him as she looked fiercely into his face. And when the tender beauty of her and the rhythm of her body against him made him feel that he would lose himself, he turned her gently, leaning her back against the pillows and pulling away. He kissed her for several long moments, in the wet cleft of her, remembering how she had taken him in her own mouth. She gasped and cried out and gripped his hair tightly in her hands, and he felt her pleasure surge through him in turn.

Then he joined her again, as slowly as before, holding her open beneath him without roughness or force. She pillowed her knee against his chest, letting him in even deeper. And he could hold back no longer. The release rose within him, and with a pang of regret, he moved to pull away, to pull himself out from her and loose himself on her belly. But she saw his intent and held him close, locking his hips with her legs.

Erik buried his face against her chest and cried out as he surged inside of her, and her hands held him close and offered him no retreat.

After several long moments he spoke. “I thought...I thought we were being more careful.”

Aethelflaed laughed sheepishly. “I couldn't bear to let you leave.” Her mouth was nestled against the top of his head as her fingers stroked through his hair. “And some things are worth the risk.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mention of r*pe, smut (unrelated)

Erik stayed two more nights. Compared to the stolen moments they had shared before, it felt like a lifetime. And yet, it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Their time together was still stolen, slipped between the hours of nightfall and daybreak – moments of murmured affection and flaring need between sleeping and wakefulness. And always it was engineered to avoid any suspicion.

Aethelflaed thought that Brione suspected the truth – that a man spent his nights in Aethelflaed's bed. But Aethelflaed did not think the woman would divulge the secret without cause, and Aethelflaed did not plan to give her any cause.

Aethelflaed spent her days weaving in the hall, and watching on the outskirts of the yard where Erik oversaw the men. He wished to make sure that the Danes he had brought were well outfitted and organized to join Aethelflaed's garrison, and that the Saxons and Danes could work together without conflict. He did not wish to leave a mess behind him when he left for his inevitable return to Bedaford.

But in truth, there was little need for Erik's oversight. The ambush and battle had served to bind the Saxons and Danes, and there was little lingering hostility between them now. They had fought together as a united front, and had saved each other's lives. Now they jested and conversed easily with each other, and with Erik, who they did not treat as a Lord. He was not a Lord of Aegelsburgh. _Not yet_ , Aethelflaed thought, with a hope and a pang.

But he was relaxed and comfortable there, and they spent their days together in a state of ease and peace. Aethelflaed could almost imagine that life would always continue so – with Erik among her men by day, and within her bed by night. But in truth she knew it was only a fleeting reprieve.

There was feasting and games on the last night of Erik's stay. A large bonfire had been made, and drink, bread, and meat were passed out generously within and without of the warm, rush-lit hall. Even the servants relaxed and feasted and played, accepting Aethelflaed's generosity in honor of the _Geoltide._ The priest from the village was invited to say a short mass and bless the meal, and the Pagans grumbled, but it caused little strife. Aethelflaed took her meal at the hall's high table for as long as decorum required, then left to wind her way among the festivities, with a fine woolen cloak drawn around her shoulders and Audr trailing by her side.

“There are too many men here, now.” Aethelflaed joked, as they walked. “We will need more women.”

Audr laughed. “I think the Danes will find willing women enough.” Aethelflaed noticed one of the Danes sitting with a _wealh_ slave woman on his lap, whispering in her ear while she laughed, bright-eyed, against him. His friends sat close by, playing dice and betting small silver pennies on the game. Another man accidentally knocked over a mug of ale, and his companions booed and crowed at him in jest.

Aethelflaed closed her eyes and let out a measured breath, praying that she had not loosed too much chaos on her hall.

She found Erik in the courtyard, where two groups of men tugged a rope and others watched on, shouting insults and encouragements at the players. Erik abstained, still resting his soreness, but he laughed recklessly as he looked on and drained his ale horn. Aethelflaed watched him for a long time, enjoying the sight of his free and open face in the firelight, his teeth glinting as he laughed, his cheeks flushed with drink and simple pleasure.

It felt strange, as if she were seeing him for the first time. She had only ever known him in the narrow confines of captivity and secrecy. To watch him now, open to the wide world, among his friends and companions - it was like she was watching an animal in the wild for the first time, and realizing it lived and breathed a wide unknown existence outside of her own small awareness. It did not make her sad, or jealous. This was what they were fighting for. The right to live and love, open to the world.

He noticed her then, and his eyes flashed with pleasure to see her watching him. She walked towards him casually, keeping a formal distance between them as she spoke.

“You are enjoying the games, Thurgil?”

He gave a small bow, eyes twinkling. “Yes, Lady.” There were many people around, and she did not know if any watched or listened. Even so, it was wise to keep up the pretense.

“And the men, they are settling in well?”

“I think so. Your hall is comfortable, and your ale is good. There is little more a man could wish for.” She was amused by the strange performance of their conversation. Erik was the same, and different, in the pretense.

“I thought they might balk at the priest,” she said.

Erik laughed. “It is well known that most Danes have no love for priests. But luckily, your hall is not too godly.”

Aethelflaed laughed uneasily. It was true, she knew. And she feared it would become a problem, if news spread that she had no residing priest and now sheltered Heathen men within her walls. It was the kind of news that would flare her father's temper.

“But will they want to celebrate _Geol_ , in their own custom? I cannot allow Heathen sacrifices within the walls.”

Erik thought for a long moment. “I will tell them to make their sacrifices in the woods, North of here, where they can be well hidden. As long as you turn a blind eye to their practice, and keep the ale flowing...I think it should suffice.”

“That is good.” She lapsed into silence for a moment, gathering her next words. “And the men...they know the consequence, if they should be found guilty of rape in my service?” She thought of the couple she had passed in the hall. The woman had seemed willing enough, but she could never be too careful. “The loss of a sword hand. Even for the slave women. A weregild will not suffice.”

Erik nodded grimly. “I will make certain they know, Lady.”

There was an unspoken current in their conversation, one they not been able to broach or admit in their tender time together in private. But it became clear to Aethelflaed now. Final questions needed to be asked. Last orders needed to be given. Erik would be leaving.

He must have felt it too, for he looked at her with wide, needful eyes and finally spoke what he had been unable to say in her bed.

“Lady...I must leave. Tomorrow.”

“I know.” She swallowed the pain that came with the words, and then sighed, strengthening her voice. “I know it. You are needed in Bedaford.”

“You will be safe and well here, Lady, and I will...” There was nothing to say, there was nothing he could say, for there was no way to know what the future would hold. He could not promise her when he would return, or when they would see each other again. It depended on so many other factors outside of their control. When would Siegfried march? When would Aethelred move against her? When would Danish Mercia rise, and who would they rise for? Would her father challenge her? Would they even live? There were too many questions to even contemplate, let alone answer.

“You will...do what needs to be done,” she said.

The rope tug had ended, one group of men raked across the searing coals to cheers of victory and groans of defeat. Now the yard was a surge around them, as the men reshuffled to join new teams, or find new games. A mock sword fight sprang up in another corner, with men wielding long linden staffs against each other. The sound of it was a distant din to Aetheflaed's ears. All the while she remained locked in a slow moment with Erik, as if they were caught in amber together.

Birger walked behind Erik, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, and the movement broke the tension, as Erik nodded and greeted his man in passing. When he looked back his eyes were softer, and Aethelflaed smiled lightly. “And I will work on securing my alliances with the Mercians here.”

“Is it wise, Lady?” Erik's face was worried again. “With the attempt on your life...”

“I don't have much choice, do I?” She laughed, without much humor. “I cannot sit like a duck all winter, waiting for eggs that I have not lain to hatch.”

Erik laughed. “You carry an impressive collection of strange bird sayings, Lady.”

“Yes, it is what I am known for,” she said mockingly, and they laughed together at the silliness of it, beating back the grief of their impending separation.

“A woman of many talents.”

She laughed, but she looked away from Erik's face, blinking back the emotion that rose in her throat.

“We will see each other soon, Lady.” And she looked back into his fierce face then. “I swear it.”

He came to her chamber late that night. The festivities had continued for hours past the waning of the sun's light and Aethelflaed was weary long before the men tired and found their beds. But she kept herself awake, and when she heard the soft step of his feet in the hall, she was ready. They stood, looking at each other for a long moment, Erik in the doorway and Aethelflaed crouched near the end of her bed. No words passed between them, just a fierce look. Erik's face was taut and drawn, his nostrils flared, his eyes wide. And then he crossed the distance between them in a few short steps, and took her in his arms. They loved quickly and roughly against the foot of her bed, without stripping or stopping to speak. Erik's need cleaved into her, his hands tightly clasped around her thighs and hips, and Aethelflaed opened to him. It came as a pang when Erik pulled out from her, spilling himself against her bare leg, even though he kissed her as he did. They were being careful, she told herself, even though she wished to feel his pleasure inside of her.

He held her face against his shoulder for a long moment, his breath fast and shallow in his chest, stroking her cheek lightly with one thumb. Then he cleaned off her thighs without speaking and crawled into bed, drawing her against him.

She pulled away lightly. “Erik -” It was the first thing either of them had said.

But Erik interrupted her quickly. “If Aethelred returns, you must bar his entrance.” It seemed that the words had been swimming in his mind for a long while, and now breeched the surface urgently. “You must hold the fortress against him.”

Aethelflaed's mind struggled to catch up, still sluggish from the rush of lust. “But...but if I do...then I will be turning against him openly. Is that wise?”

“You have no choice.” Erik's voice was firm. “If he truly wishes you dead, then you have no choice. We are at war with Aethelred. It is only a matter of time before the world knows.”

Aethelflaed sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She knew Erik was protective. She knew he feared for her, and that Aethelred haunted his thoughts.

“I would have more time before my father knows, either way,” she said. “My father has always pinned his hopes for a unified England on his alliance with Aethelred.”

“And used you to do it,” Erik growled.

“Yes,” she said, impatiently. “Now I must find a way to convince him that I have the power to realize his goal, without Aethelred.”

Erik's face darkened more and his hands tightened where they clasped her waist. “You will be careful? If you travel to treat with the Mercians?”

“Of course,” she replied, trying to sound easy. “I will be well protected with my new guard. You have said so yourself.” She smiled lightly, hoping to break Erik's tension. He was afraid, she knew. He was a brave man – a warrior – and she had watched him fight with a blade and cut down men fearlessly. But he feared for her, and he could not always control it.

“And I will bar the fortress against Aethelred. Whether I am here or not. I promise.” Erik relaxed and buried his face against her. “All will be well, Erik,” she said soothingly. “It must.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: battle violence

Erik had been back in Bedaford for almost two weeks when the message came.

Since his return, his growing flock of men had started to camp at Cuthbert's fortress, and it seemed that more joined them by the day. The news was spreading, that the Lord Erik Thurgilson lived, that he rose against his brother Siegfried and now had the alliance of Lord Cuthbert of Bedaford. The men he had gifted to Aethelflaed's guard were soon replaced with more eager warriors looking for a fertile place to land. He had paid the first men to enter his service, offering them gifts of silver and arm rings for as long as he could afford. But soon, his swelling guard outpaced the size of his hoard, even with Aethelflaed's generous contributions. Instead, he offered each man his keep in bread, broth, and ale, and promised to pay a small wereguild to the man's kin, if he were to die in Erik's service. It was enough for most. And Erik went about planning a raid.

He was unwilling to raid within the lands around Bedaford, hoping to continue to gain allies of the Southern lords of Daneland. But the lands North of Hamtune were beyond the scope of his schemes. He took Cuthbert's words to heart, and did not seek to treat with the Viking lords of the Northern Boroughs. Instead, he sought to raid them.

Erik had learned, upon his return from Aegelsburgh, that a band of warriors gathered outside the town of Ligercester, whether to act as scouts for some Northern lord, or to plan a raid of their own, Erik did not know. Whatever their motives, it was clear that they were not friends. They had killed two of Cuthbert's men the week prior; men who had approached them in peace and goodwill to share news and the warmth of their fire. Only one had escaped with his life, and had returned to bear the story of the hostility to Cuthbert, and to Erik in turn.

So Erik gathered thirty men, twenty of his own and ten of Cuthbert's, and plowed North towards Ligercester. They traveled in the shadow hours of dawn and dusk, and through parts of the night, keeping their camps concealed in wooded hollows during the day to avoid the detection of scouts. On their third evening of travel, they set up on a forested hill just Southwest of the warrior's camp. Erik could smell the smoke of their fires, and hear the sounds of laughter and shouting from his cold bed in a barren Beech grove. His own men were as quiet as the grave, their fires half buried on the Southern side of the hill to conceal the smoke, the only sounds the hiss and murmur of men pissing, and shifting in their sleep. A few hours before the break of dawn, they attacked.

The enemy warriors were mostly asleep, although several scouts fringed the outskirts of the camp. Most were killed silently, their throats cut with a quiet blade. But two averted death and raised the alarm, and soon the camp was in an uproar as men woke and scrambled for their weapons.They were evenly matched in numbers, but Erik's men were prepared and braced for battle. So Erik's men still held the advantage. They killed methodically.

Erik lost track of the men whose lives he ended, ax in his right hand and sword in his left. His right arm was still sore at the effort, but stronger, tempered and braced from its work during the ambush on Aethelflaed. He killed one man with an ax cut across the throat, and watched as the man's muscles severed, swinging his head half off his neck so that he lolled like an old doll as he fell. In the pause and the breath of the kill, another man attacked Erik from behind, but his sword swing glanced off Erik's left shoulder, and Erik was grateful for his newly won mail shirt. Erik turned swiftly and took the man in the belly. He was not so well protected, and the sword strike gutted him easily. The raid was over soon after that.

In all, three of Erik's men were killed by defenders of the camp, which was not a small loss. But for their loss, they won the complete slaughter of the warriors, and the loot of twenty horses, and enough mail shirts, helmets, and weapons to outfit most of the surviving raiders. There was a horde of silver there too, likely plunder from earlier raids by the warrior band. Two of the men who had been killed from Erik's crew died trying to take down the silver's defenders. He would use some to pay a handsome wereguild on their lives. And so Erik and his men left much richer than they had been when they arrived.

“The Danish lord of Hamtune is grateful,” Cuthbert was saying. They sat in his hall, drinking ale while their best warriors ate and rested close to the fire. Spirits were still high from the successful raid. Men were happily drinking to their own success. “For the slaughter of the warriors at Ligercester,” he continued. “He says they had been dogging his men like hungry hounds for two moons now.”

“Hmm.” Erik grumbled. “It would have been helpful to know that _before_ they killed two of your men.”

Cuthbert shrugged and raised an eyebrow lazily. “Such has been the custom in the Danelaw of late.”

“Every man for himself?” Erik asked wryly.

“I suppose you could describe it thus.”

“There's little strength in such a custom.”

“And so we seek to change it.” Cuthbert toasted with a thin smile and drank. Erik mirrored him. “Either way, Thorulf of Hamtune wishes to express his gratitude in person. He comes two days hence to meet with us.”

“Perhaps he wonders what other benefits might be found in our friendship,” Erik offered with a grin.

“Perhaps. And his brother is Lord at Huntandun, to the East. It may be that he will accompany Thorulf as well.”

“This is welcome news, Cuthbert.” So the Danish lords would come to them now. Erik thought of the Eluf Thorsson, the man who had laughed him out of his hall. “Any word from Medhamstede?” he asked sourly.

“None.”

  
“I fear Lord Eluf has joined with Siegfried, and acts against me as we speak.”

Cuthbert shrugged again, casually. “Such is the way of war.” Erik laughed, thinking how often he had told himself the same thing, and how tired he was beginning to feel of it. But he could not lose strength now. Not with Aethelflaed's life at stake. “Is there any news from Mercia? How go your...allies across Watling Street?”

Erik laughed lightly at Cuthbert's barely veiled joke. “I wait for news,” was all he said.

He received it not long after. The man came running into the fortress while Erik was greasing his mail. His eyes were wide and his voice breathless.

“Lord E-rik!” he sputtered, then lowered his voice, looking around him conspiratorially. Erik pulled him aside, into a corner of the stable yard.

“What is it?” Erik's voice was gruff. The man was newer to his guard, a Dane by the name of Thorstein. He had been eager to join Erik's men, and had taken part in the raid on the warriors of Ligercester. He was a good fighter, though Erik had yet to take the full measure of him.

“A message, Lord,” Thorstein whispered fiercely. “From Aegelsburgh! You must go at once, Lord, there is danger.” Erik's blood chilled.

“Who told you this? Who bore this message?”

“I did not get his name, Lord!” The man looked confused and frightened. “He turned straight back as soon as he found me.”

“And how did he know you? How did he know you were Lord Erik's man?” Erik was suspicious now, and his tone was harsh and heavy as he questioned the man.

“H-he asked who I served, and I t-told him Lord Erik...” Thorstein stuttered slightly as he spoke. “And he asked what was the name of the man who served Lord Erik most closely...and I t-told him it was Dagfinn, Lord. And then he said he could t-trust me with the message.”

Erik realized his had roughly grabbed the front of Thorstein's tunic and released it with a sigh.

“What did the man look like?”

“He was tall, Lord. A Dane, I think. He had a brown beard and rode a gray horse...”

 _Birger_. At least it was a fair description of Birger. But why had the man not come to him directly? Could it truly be that urgent that Birger himself couldn't stay to find Erik?

“Where did he find you, Thorstein?” Erik's voice was calmer now. “Why could he not stay?”

“I was scouting, East of the town, Lord. He found me...and delivered his message...and said he had to return to Aegelsburgh. There is danger, Lord! That's what he said. He was urgent, Lord...” Thorstein trailed off, looking nervously at Erik.

Erik rubbed his face, filled with a sense of frustration and impotence. He could not bear to look at the young man's nervous face, or hear his stuttering voice again. “Thank you, Thorstein,” he said. “You must tell no one of this, do you understand?” His voice was both mild and rough.

“Yes, Lord.” And Erik dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Perhaps Thorstein was lying. Perhaps he had invented the story, for some reason Erik could not fathom. But then how had he known of Aegelsburgh and Birger? And if it was a lie, who would seek to draw Erik out with such a story? It made no sense. Whatever the truth, one thing was certain. Thorstein's words rang in Erik's ears. _There is danger_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I posted my chapters out of order? Either that or I made a decision to rearrange the order that I now can no longer remember. Either way, this chapter was originally plotted *before* the last chapter. I feel weird re-arranging them now, and it doesn't actually matter, because the narrative is moving forward in two different places. But it will draw out events on Aethelflaed's side for longer before we see the result of that foreboding message....sorry!

Aegelsburgh was busy in Erik’s absence. The busyness served to assuage Aethelflaed’s loneliness, and her grief at his parting. But it was essential work, too. The fortress was preparing for war.

The men practiced drills in the yard each day, and continued testing themselves with games of strength at night. The smoke came thick from the smithy and clung to the faces of the men and servants, as the blacksmith and his apprentice worked hours each day to shore up the estate’s armory. The thawing earth of the archery range was already torn to mud by the feet of training bowmen. Audr spent some time there as well, with Aethelflaed’s consent, working a small hickory flat bow that Eadig the joiner had fashioned for her specially. The girl had a strong arm and good aim, and Aethelflaed would be grateful for her skill if they came under attack again.

Aethelflaed herself had little patience for the archery range. Her hand itched for the hilt of her shortsword, Bright-Blood. And so Birger trained with her daily in the orchard, and she cared little for the talk or judgements of servants, if there was any. This was her fortress now, and she would bear no false pretense in herself.

She trained with shortsword and axe, in the style of the Danes, testing herself against Birger on the various terrains and hillocks where the apple trees flourished. She liked the feel of the small battle ax in her hand - the smooth wood of the handle, and the heavy weight of the head soon felt like an extension of her own arm. She was weak and unpracticed to start, but the long hours of training with Steapa seemed to be fixed deep into her bones and muscles, and the unpracticed moves came back to her quickly. It was a keen pleasure to feel her strength returning, and her hope along with it.

Aethelflaed would have spent all her time training if she could, only broken by walks in the rising sunlight and lazy evenings by the fire with Audr. But she had to force her mind towards the task of courting allies. She had tried to brush aside Erik’s concerns, but in truth she was reluctant to leave the fortress, afraid that her garrison would not hold up to an attack from Aethelred. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to further her position without risking all she had gained so far.

So she was grateful yet wary when a message arrived, several days after Erik left. It came from the Lord Alwin, announcing his imminent arrival at Aegelsburgh and requesting the hospitality of the Lady Aethelflaed for himself and his wife Mildred as they traveled to Lundine. Lord Alwin resided in the old Roman villa at Celtanhom, some days ride to the west of Aegelsburgh, and commanded a wide and prosperous swath of fertile farmland near the River Severn. He would be a worthy ally. Unless, of course, he came as a spy for Aethelred.

They were cordial enough. Alwin enjoyed his drink - a big bearded man prone to blustering over his ale cup. His wife Mildred was much younger than him, her fine golden hair peeking out from her elaborate headdress and framing a sharp, pretty face with clever eyes. They ate mutton, with fresh cheese from the first of the sheep in lamb. The white curds flecked Alwin’s dark beard as he ate with relish. Aethelflaed looked away with mild distaste.

“What brings you to Lundine, Lady?” She asked Mildred. The woman smiled, as if in apology for her husband’s course manners. Mildred opened her mouth to reply, but Alwin spoke over her, smacking his food loudly as he spoke. Mildred closed her eyes and sighed deeply, her face wrought with a long suffering look.

“My brother was a warrior there, fought with our Lord Aethelred in the Battle for Lundine. He stayed behind to garrison the city after our victory there.” Aethelflaed noted his words, how he claimed some share of credit for the victory. She doubted he’d seen true battle in years. “He’s dead now.” Alwin finished with a loud swallow.

“I am sorry to hear that, Lord,” she said demurely, nodding in sympathy towards Mildred.

“I’m not.” Alwin licked his greasy fingers as Aethelflaed stalled in silence at his response, then turned to look at her with a trickster grin. “It would seem he won some wealth for himself - men, slaves, silver. We go to Lundine to claim my inheritance.”

“Ah.” Aethelflaed looked down at her own cup and took a sip to cover her discomfort at Alwin’s open greed. “And is it safe, Lady? To go to Lundine now? War is afoot, as I’m sure you know.” She hoped Alwin would leave the women to converse, but was not surprised when he interjected again.

“We will be safe enough. We won’t let you be captured by the Northmen, my dear, will we?” And he laughed openly at that, a loud braying sound. Mildred looked at Aethelflaed with muted horror, but she felt only sympathy for the woman. She might have been offended at Alwin’s callous bluntness, if the man was not so clearly an utter idiot. Aethelred, too, was an idiot in his own way. But Aethelflaed highly doubted that he would use this man for a spy. She smiled thinly and hazarded a risk.

“Yes.” Her voice was terse. “I’m sure you would not be as foolish as my own lord husband.”

Mildred looked at Aethelflaed with startled eyes. Alwin laughed first, then stuttered and coughed, looking at her nervously, as if realizing a moment too late that he had made some error, yet still uncertain what it was. For once he let his wife speak for him.

“Your husband, Lord Aethelred, we have heard that he is a fine warrior, and… and a good leader.” There was a slight, desperate note in her voice.

“Have you?” Aethelflaed laughed dryly. “From whom, I wonder? I myself haven’t heard from him in weeks.” Mildred still looked nervous, but there was a curious look in her eyes as she perused Aethelflaed’s face. Aethelflaed continued, “Did you pay handsomely, for my ransom, Lord Alwin?”

The man stuttered again, then smiled as he spoke with a blustering air. “We…we were only doing our…duty, Lady Aethelflaed. It was not a trouble! Not a trouble at all.”

“We are happy that you are home safe,” Mildred added earnestly. “And free from the clutches of the Northmen.”

Aethelflaed laughed. “Yes, Lord Siegfried is a fearsome enemy, I must admit. I am happy to be free of his prison, and I thank you for your…generous contribution.” She took a sip from her ale and looked directly at Mildred as she spoke next. “We can only hope that our…Mercian leadership is strong, when Siegfried launches his attack.”

“Lord Aethelred will not let us down,” Alwin said cheerfully as he began chewing again.

But Mildred only returned her gaze with fierce and knowing eyes.

Alwin retired early, deep in his cups and belching as he stumbled to the guest chamber. But Aethelflaed and Mildred stayed in the hall with Audr and Mildred’s maid, spinning hanks of soft wool into fine thread by the flickering fire light. They spoke intermittently, their silences warm and easeful as they focused on their calming work. But Aethelflaed’s mind still churned with the ploy she had pulled over supper, and she wondered at Mildred’s knowing look.

When the lady laughed mildly to herself, Aethelflaed looked up questioningly. “What makes you laugh?” She asked.

“I was thinking of something my mother used to say to me, when I was a girl. Before…” she paused tensely. “Before I was wed to Lord Alwin.”

“What saying was that?”

“‘The man steers the ship, but the woman weaves the sails.’” Mildred looked at her with open, guileless eyes, dark in the low light.

Aethelflaed laughed warmly. “And have you found that to be the case in your own marriage, Lady?”

Mildred scoffed. “I suppose you could say that, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Your husband…”

“Is not a clever man.” Mildred’s spindle lay in her lap now. “He is crude, and often foolish. But he is not cruel.”

“I am glad to hear it, Lady.” Aethelflaed offered, and she meant it. “And I took no offense at his blundering, I promise.”

Mildred smiled at her gratefully, and a bit sheepishly. “And your own husband, Lady?”

Aethelflaed sighed. “Have you met the Lord Aethelred, Mildred?”

“I have not, but I have heard…” she paused, as if unsure what to say. “I have heard that he is a good warrior…a great warrior.”

The woman was still being careful, afraid of offending Aethelflaed with open talk of her husband.

“Do not believe the stories, Mildred. I believe my husband has paid to have them told in his favor.” Mildred shifted uncomfortably. “I fear for Mercia, that we must rely on such a cruel and foolish leader in our time of need.”

Mildred appeared to be steadied by Aethelflaed’s open talk. “There has been much talk…” she conceded. “That Aethelred must be foolish…to have let you fall to the Northmen.” Aethelflaed laughed humorlessly. Mildred continued. “But…he is favored by your father the King, is he not? There is no other who we could trust to keep Mercia strong.”

Aethelflaed smiled knowingly. “Perhaps there is another,” she said simply. “One who can catch the wind.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're back on track now! That's what I get for being chapters ahead of myself and updating intermittently. 
> 
> Weeeee so I just watched aaaaall of Season 4 in about two days! Somewhat vague but still spoilery spoilers ahead for S4 in this note, as they relate to this story and my feelings about it. Skip the note if you're not caught up! 
> 
> It's a little funny to be writing a story that is so far "out of date" so to speak with current canon. I wonder how many Aethelflaed/Uhtred fics are gonna pop up in the coming weeks and months! But I'm still on the Aethelrik ship for life. 
> 
> I mostly loved Season 4 but was really disappointed with how they handled the Mercian succession story line. I feel like they really short changed Aethelflaed and made her into mostly a passive bystander, resulting in the ultimate plot making basically...no sense at all. But I realized that my investment in / disappointment with that story line comes from the fact that I've been writing a...60+ chapter two-part epic about Aethelflaed taking power on her own terms, and what that would actually look like for her. So...I was kind of setting myself up for disappointment, lol. 
> 
> Anyway, this fic now feels like a "fix-it" in more ways than one. I'm fixing the tragedy of Aethelflaed/Erik and fixing the absolute cock-up job of the Mercian succession storyline, giving the power back to Aethelflaed in her own story. 
> 
> Onward!

Aethelflaed was buoyed by the success with Mildred, for it was a success. Before her and her husband parted, Mildred had pressed Aethelflaed’s hands with her own and hugged and kissed her warmly.

“The woman weaves the sails,” Mildred had said in parting, and Aethelflaed took her words as pledge. When the time came, Alwin’s men would back Aethelflaed’s claim. She had told Mildred nothing of the alliance with Erik, and could only hope it would not come as a shock and betrayal to the young woman. Aethelflaed hoped she would understand. Mildred, too, was trapped in a loveless marriage.

With her confidence raised and her hope kindled, Aethelflaed planned a trip to Herutforde. A day and a half’s ride to the East, near the border of East Anglia, the small market town boasted a monastery and a fortified burgh, and was governed by the Mercian Lord Leofric under the watchful eye of her father’s reeve. Aethelflaed had met Leofric once, when she had lived in London before her capture. He was a rich and powerful man, as old as her father and boasting a fierce reputation in battle. Aethelflaed doubted that he would have much patience for her, but perhaps she could make inroads with his wife.

Leofric did welcome her warmly, treating her to a rich and hearty dinner. She imagined he wished to be seen sparing no expense to host the daughter of the King. But her assumption was right: he had little interest in discussing politics with her.

“Have you seen the fyrd at Oxenford, Lord Leofric?” She asked, halfway through their meal. “It has been raised all winter at my husband’s command.”

Leofric laughed and spoke with condescension in his voice. “My men garrison the city of Lundine, Lady Aethelflaed. I have little time for a jaunt to Oxenford.” And he had turned from her to continue boasting and jesting with his neighboring thegns.

Deflated, Aethelflaed turned to try her luck with his wife, Edith. She had hoped to find a kind and clever woman like Mildred as Lady of the household in Herutforde. What she found instead was a dour, pious woman who reminded her of her own mother. Edith had taken the opportunity to chastise her.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” she spoke sourly. “I notice that your party travels without a priest.” Aethelflaed startled, sheepishly. In truth, she had spared little thought for a priest. She preferred to travel sparsely, with as few guards as possible, keeping the fortress at Aegelsburgh well-garrisoned. A priest seemed less than essential. But of course it had not gone unnoticed.

“It is true, Lady Edith,” she conceded. “My husband has taken our priest, Halig, on his own travels, and I fear I have not yet retained another.”

Edith sniffed stiffly. “And are priests hard to come by these days?”

Aethelflaed laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I suppose not. But I have not yet come across one whose company I can bear.”

She intended it as a joke, but Edith glared at her words with shocked and reproving eyes, and Aethelflaed felt her spirit falter. “Perhaps you require my assistance, Lady?” She said, fiercely. “There are _several_ priests on the estate here. I shall send one back with you.” Aethelflaed did not miss Edith’s emphasis, nor her commanding tone. She would not be bossed around by this woman.

“That will not be necessary, Lady Edith. ” Her voice was cold. “I assure you, my hall is godly enough.”

Edith sniffed again, sourly. “I notice there are Danes in your party.” Aethelflaed groaned inwardly. It was only getting worse.

“Yes, Lady. Good Christianized Danes. They have been converted by the truth of the Lord’s Holy Word!” Aethelflaed could hear the sarcasm was dripping from her own voice, and so was surprised when Edith seemed to believe it. The woman looked slightly mollified.

“Christianized Danes, but no priest? What would your father think?” Aethelflaed could do nothing but sigh.

The best that could be said of her disastrous trip was that it ended quickly. They stayed only one night, and headed back towards Aegelsburgh by dawn. With good luck and a hard ride in the lengthening daylight, they could reach Aegelsburgh not long after nightfall. Aethelflaed would be grateful to return to the comfort of her own hall, in all its godlessness. But she never expected to find Erik awaiting her on her return.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note to say that the fortress and town of Aegelsburgh has gotten *quite* a glow up in Season 4. Would have loved those sweeping visuals as a reference when I was trying to build the setting at the start of this story! Needless to say, the Aegelsburgh I’ve been envisioning/writing this whole time is quite a bit humbler than that - a nice hall and village, no doubt, but not a palatial complex rivaling Winchester.

Erik arrived in Aegelsburgh as night was falling. He was saddlesore and his horse was exhausted from the long, hard ride. Dagfinn and Sig rode with him, although they consistently lagged behind his frantic pace. By the time they caught up with him at Aegelsburgh’s walls, he had already negotiated their way inside. The men on guard had not recognized him, but with urgent prodding they had found someone who could identify him as Thurgil, one of Aethelflaed’s sworn Danish men. The men seemed calm and unhurried in the face of the Erik’s fierce command. Perhaps they did not yet know of the danger.

He was crestfallen to learn that Aethelflaed was not present at the estate - nor was Birger, or Audr. The man Deagol had been left in command of the garrison, and Erik quickly hunted him down and interrogated him.

“She went East, to Herutforde,” the man explained.

“With a guard?”

“Of course with a guard!” Deagol bristled at Erik’s savage tone. He tried to soften his manner.

“And there has been no alarm? No message sent of danger on the road?”

“No, Lord,” Deagol assured him with wide eyes and an outstretched hand, as if trying to placate a mad bull. Erik sighed and turned away, staring out over the wooden ramparts. Why would Birger send word of danger at Aegelsburgh if Aethelflaed was on the road? It made no sense, and Erik’s spine started to tingle with a precarious worry.

But then he heard a call, and a sound of a horn from the estate’s Eastern gate. He hurried around the ramparts to see the party arrive, wearied and wet from the road, and his worry ebbed as he recognized Aethelflaed’s face in the low light. _She was safe_.

He found her in the stables, as she dismounted her horse and caught her breath against the mare’s warm, wet flank, exhausted after the day’s ride. When she turned, she found Erik in place the stable boy, and gave a yelp of mingled surprise and joy.

“Erik! You —” He surged towards her and drew her close, and she embraced him in return, her heart adrift in pleasure and confusion.

“You are safe, Lady.” He whispered into her hair, and she felt his voice tingle down her spine.

“Erik, what are you doing here? I did not expect you to return so soon.”

“Aethelflaed.” Erik’s face was wrought with some unknown emotion. “You sent for me. You sent for my aid!”

“Erik, I know nothing of this. I—”

Erik stumbled backwards, fear and need fighting on his face. “Where is Birger?”

“In the yard? In the hall? I do not know. Erik, what is happening—?” But he spun away from her and vanished out of the stable, as quickly as he had appeared. She could only stumble after him, a mute shade in the wake of a ghost.

“We rode from Herutforde today, Lord!” Birger’s voice was stressed and emphatic. “I have not been to Bedaford in weeks!”

Erik looked harshly into Birger’s face, his own anger slipping in the wake of his fear. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” He kicked a wayward piece of firewood on the ground by his foot and watched it sail and skidder across the yard. “Shit!”

“Lord,” Birger’s voice was nervous now. “Lord, what is it?”

“I’ve been tricked, Birger,” Erik said with mingled shame and disgust. “Someone has drawn me here for some unknown reason. I fear it is a trap.”

Birger swallowed nervously, then nodded with regathered confidence. “But you have arrived here safely, Lord. You have averted danger on the road.”

Erik nodded, controlling his breathing. “That’s true, but… perhaps they mean to attack Bedaford in my absence, to draw me away…?”

“You have only taken two men, Lord.” Birger pointed out. “I am sure Bedaford remains well-defended.” Erik had to laugh breathlessly at Birger’s dry tone. The man was right. It made no sense.

Still, he countered sourly. “Perhaps I am watched, even now.” He exhaled sharply. “We may not be safe here, Birger. We should have extra men on watch tonight, and scouts sent to the woods.”

“I will see it done, Lord.”

“And in the morning, I hope, we shall discover who wishes to kill us now.”

The news of the ruse hit Aethelflaed with a startled shock, then settled in her gut as cold, thick dread. It made little sense, and her mind spun trying to follow and trace all the threads of possibility. Had the man Thorstein lied? Or had another man impersonated Birger? Either story required the existence of someone - some entity, that knew of the relationship between Aethelflaed and Erik, and of the role Birger played in it. It was a disquieting thought.

Erik was worried too, she knew, but there was little they could do to solve the riddle as the night stretched and deepened around them. So they took their comfort where they could, in the warm welcome of each other’s bodies, and forgot for a moment the swirling strands of deceit that surrounded them.

As Aethelflaed lay nestled against Erik’s nakedness, her mind turned unbidden to her failure at Herutforde, and she cringed at the thought. She had expected Lord Leofric’s condescension, but had been taken off guard by Lady Edith’s doubtful aspersions towards her piety. She should have known her lack of godliness would begin to dog her eventually. And if her father heard of it…

“Would you convert, Erik?” The question rose to her mouth with little thought.

Erik was startled out of his own drifting thoughts, and turned to look at her with confusion on his face. “What?”

“Would you convert? To Christianity?”

Erik’s brow creased, and then he laughed hollowly. His voice sounded far away. “I don't think I could.”

“I fear…” she started, cautiously, thinking again of Lady Edith. “I fear the Saxon Mercians will never accept a Heathen lord.”

“And the Danish Mercians will never accept purely Christian lords.” He was slightly flustered now.

“You wouldn't have to…practice,” she explained. “You would just need to be baptized. You would just need....”

“To pretend?” He gave a small snort. “I am weary of pretense. I am weary of the constant performance of politics.”

Aethelflaed did not press the point. Erik was tense, she knew, taut with anxiety over the false message. She turned away, and Erik moved towards her with a sigh, gathering her in his arms.

“Run away with me.” His voice was a low hum in her ear. She laughed lightly, assuming it was a joke, but he continued. “We could leave now, in the night. We could run and not look back.”

She turned to look at him, confused and frustrated. “Erik...I cannot. You know that.”

His eyes were plaintive, his face shining with some unknown need, as bright and changeable as the moon. “We could leave all of this madness behind, and we could just...be together. We could just have each other.”

She tried to laugh. She tried to make her voice light and easy, but something hard and tense was coiling within her. “And then I would be nothing more than your woman, for all of my days.”

His face was still a moon. He did not hear the protest in her voice. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

The coiled thing within her tensed again, and struck. She could not restrain it. “And you have been my man for all of three moons, and you are already sick of it.” Her voice was cold and Erik heard her reproach. The moon retreated from his face, and he looked angry and grim in the low light.

“I am sick of hiding in the shadows!” He retorted. “I am sick of...of spilling my seed on your belly. I am sick of looking over my shoulder for a knife in the night, of pretending anything other than the truth – which is that you are _mine_.”

Their voices were low, barely more than a whisper. But the tension was tight and heavy between them now.

“We must be patient, Erik. We must bide our time, we agreed on that. It will be worth it...in the end, I am certain!” There was a plea in her voice now, as well.

“Patience.” He sighed, spitting the word out and leaning away from her. “Patience while we wait for...what? To be ripped apart and thrown to the dogs? To discover why my man has lied to me, and what betrayal he has seeded? To kill him before he kills me? I cannot wait!” He spoke with mockery, and she bristled. The easy comfort they had held, with their naked bodies close, evaporated in the air. Aethelflaed pulled the blanket around her, covering her body, distancing herself from Erik's touch.

“Do not do this, Erik. Do not let your fear speak for you. We must not lose our heads – we have come so far!” Erik had moved away from her as well, and pulled on his breeches. He stood beside the bed, his body taut and his face flushed. The mocking anger was still present in his eyes.

“You have always thought me a loose-headed fool, haven't you? You have _never_ truly trusted me, and I fear you never will.”

“I have trusted you with my life!” Aethelflaed could not restrain the anger that bled into her own voice. “I have trusted you with my body, and with my heart! I am asking for you to trust in me...to trust in this...our plan....”

Erik's face twitched. “ _Have I not trusted you?_ Have I not given _everything_ to you, Aethelflaed? Have I not sacrificed all for the dream of _you_ – my ship, my brother...”

“You regret it.” Her voice was ice, and held no question. “You regret turning towards me.”

“I regret nothing!” He surged forward with a step, and she thought he might reach out to touch her, but he did not. “I regret nothing, but you must see..”

“I see, Erik. I see that you are afraid! You fear your brother. You do not want to face him.”

“Of course I do not want to face him!” The words exploded from him harshly, and Aethelflaed cringed at the noise. He lowered his voice and continued. “Of course I do not want to fight Siegfried – to kill my brother. I do not want to watch his men die on my sword, or watch mine die on his. Is that so foolish? Does that truly rouse your disdain?”

“I do not wish for war, Erik. I never have. But power must be claimed, it is the only way – _you_ were the one who told me that!”

Erik's face was contorted with emotion. His voice broke over his words. “I do not want power, Aethelflaed! Not anymore. I only want you.”

She heard the plea in his voice, saw his shoulders, drawn and slumped. She felt his pain in her heart, a low and desperate tug. But her own pain was present too, the cold snake-like thing that had lunged forward into the fight. It reared again now, unbidden, and she looked away bitterly from Erik's open face.

“You want me for yourself.” He made a small noise in his throat, of assent or protest, she could not say. “But you do not want me for myself.” She looked at him again then. “It is always the same with men. I thought you were different.”

Her words hit him like a slap, and he stepped back, his face reeling. He stood in silence for a long moment before speaking. “Do you wish me to go, Lady?” He had often used the formality as an endearment, but the title fell stiff and brittle from his tongue now, stretching the distance between them.

Aethelflaed did not wish him to go, not truly. But the words came to her mouth and she could not stop them. “Do whatever you wish, Erik. If I am such a burden for you...then yes. I would have you leave me.”

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then he closed it again, wordlessly, his eyes hard and dark in his face. And he turned and left, and the door shut behind him with a dull shock.

Aethelflaed stayed in her chamber late into the next day. There was a part of her that hoped Erik would return, that he would come to her bed again and they would press away their pain and anger with loving need. But Erik did not return.

When she finally pulled herself out of her grief and entered the hall, she found Birger, wild-eyed and agitated.

“Lady Aethelflaed?” His voice was tentative, worried even. She knew she must have looked sickly in the raking rays of the midday sun that pierced the hall. “The Lord Erik…” he lowered his voice as he spoke the name. “I have not seen him, I cannot find him, Lady!”

Aethelflaed looked at him, her eyelids shuttering rapidly over her eyes, beating back tears. So he had left, truly. “He is gone, Birger.”

“Gone…?” Birger was aghast. “But what of the danger, what of the trap? Has he taken extra guards, Lady?”

“I reckon he has not,” she replied, looking away. Birger seemed unable to help himself, he reached out a hand and gently shook Aethelflaed’s stiff shoulder. She did not push him away.

“But Lady, he is in danger!”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m afraid he will have to meet the danger on his own, Birger.” Birger’s hand fell limply to his side. “I am sorry.”

Aethelflaed turned away. Birger’s fear mirrored her own, buried as it was in her shock and grief. But there was nothing she could do for Erik now. He was lost to her. He was truly gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, as they say in the Icelandic sagas, ‘Erik is now out of this saga’……
> 
> JUST KIDDING. Phew, he will definitely be back. HOWEVER, he will be out of the story for several chapters. Bear with me…this is all going somewhere, I promise.


	26. Chapter 26

**Part Three: War’s Road**

The road to Wintancester was thawing to mud. It sucked and stuck around the hooves of the horses and the wheels of Aethelflaed’s small carriage cart, slowing their progress to a painstaking crawl. Aethelflaed would have preferred to travel without the cart, but knew her parents would disdain her sleeping rough on the road. She was trying to please them, after all. 

They had bid her come to Wintancester for the feast of Candlemas, and she could hardly refuse. She had not seen them since shortly after her release from Beamfleot, and in a failure of decorum, had neglected them over Geoltide. The visit was long overdue. 

But Aethelflaed’s heart was heavy, her mind and mood as slow and thick as the road mud. She had been lost to a grim, grinding melancholy for several days after Erik’s departure. Poor Audr had spent all her hours trying to tend and prod Aethelflaed back to wellness, and her strength of body had returned in time. But her energy still faltered, slack as a windless sail, the path forward lost to her. 

In one sense, it felt good to be on the road, to be free of her nest at Aegelsburgh, which had become more and more strewn with the sense of her own sorrow. She had taken as many precautions as she could before leaving, urging Deagol to hold the fortress against Aethelred if necessary, to the man’s wide-eyed agreement. 

She had spoken to Brione as well, her _wealh_ servant, and had shown her the small opening at the back of the orchard where a woman could slip beyond the walls unnoticed. 

“If Aethelred returns and the fortress falls, you must flee.” Aethelflaed had explained. She had little patience for secrecy anymore, when all felt lost already. “You and your children, and any other women you can take. Aethelred will punish you cruelly for your service to me.” 

Brione might have been nervous, but she did not show it. She only looked at Aethelflaed with hard, unreadable eyes. 

“I am sorry, Brione. I imagine you have no gratitude for your promotion now, and I do not blame you.” 

The woman sighed, the hard look retreating slightly from her face. “I will flee, if I must, Lady.” 

“I pray that Aethelred will not return.” 

“As will I, Lady.” 

It had been painful, making each preparation with the knowledge that all her hard work could be dashed with a brutish blow of Aethelred’s will. It was painful, but necessary. But nothing had been as painful as her visit to the smithy. The blacksmith’s apprentice had requested her presence the day before their departure, and she had answered, blindly ignorant to what she would find. 

“What is it?” She asked, confused, stroking the finely wrought mail that Bada the Smith held out for her inspection. 

“It is a mail shirt, Lady.” He explained. “It was made especial to fit your form.” Aethelflaed’s mind flailed in silence, and Bada continued nervously. “It is smaller than a standard shirt, but no less strong.” 

“On whose command?” Aethelflaed’s voice was hoarse with emotion, and she cleared her throat self-consciously. “On whose command was this commissioned?” 

“I—” Bada looked nervously to his apprentice. “It was…the Dane, the tall man..”

“Thurgil.” The apprentice offered. “Your man Thurgil commissioned it, with his own silver and stock. It was to be a surprise for your Ladyship.” 

The silence stretched as Aethelflaed swallowed painfully. 

“We have been working on it for a month now, Lady.” The apprentice continued. “I am glad it is complete in time for your journey.” 

_A month_. So Erik had commissioned it when he was at Aegelsburgh over _Geoltide_. Before the trick, before the fight, before…

Aethelflaed coughed to cover her rising emotion, casting her face down and away from the curious looks of the smiths. “I thank you deeply, Bada,” she said, nodding to the apprentice as well, whose name she did not know. “It is beautiful work.” 

And then the mail shirt slipped into her outstretched hand and she turned and left as quickly as she could, so they would not see her fast falling tears. 

She wore the mail shirt now, as she rode astride her chestnut mare. It was heavy but her body was strong. Even now, her muscles honed themselves to brace against its chafing weight. It had a row of hooks on the back, so that it could be fastened snugly over her woolen riding tunic. It was covered mostly by her sky blue mantle and white wool cloak, the mail hood down to expose her headdress a-flutter with gilded thread ribbons. She wore her short sword, Bright Blood, sheathed at her belt, and a battle axe and shield hung off the mare’s saddle in easy reach. They did not wave the Mercian standard out of caution, but Aethelflaed nevertheless felt like a royal, and like a warrior. She only wished each weapon and tool she wielded did not turn her mind to Erik. 

The Candlemas service was a dull affair, despite her father’s lavish efforts. Every attendee of the ceremony in the palace hall was given a cream white tallow candle to hold aflame in their hands throughout Father Erkenwold’s liturgy. Aethelflaed marveled at the expense, but she did not feel the light of Christ in her soul as the priest professed she should. She only felt the tickling pain as the hot wax of the candle dribbled into her palm. 

It was only after the feast had been served and cleared, and her father had retired to his library that she was able to speak to him free from formality. Alfred’s face looked wan and haggard in the low light of his time-keeping candles, an old man hunched over sheets of dry parchment in the shadows. She felt a pang in her heart at the sight of his growing frailness. He was not far past his fortieth year, and yet his illness aged him. 

“The service was beautiful, Father,” she said, as earnestly as she could. She was full of kindness for him in that moment, in all his dour piety. He chuckled dryly, as if smelling her falsehood. 

“Father Erkenwold serves a purpose,” he replied. “But I am not sure it is to convert the heathen, or convince the doubtful.” 

She sat tentatively across from him at his reading table. “I have always enjoyed Father Beocca’s services, Lord.”

Alfred sighed. “I have as well, but Father Beocca is married to a Dane now. People would talk.” 

“A Christian Dane,” Aethelflaed protested. 

“But a Dane nonetheless.” Alfred’s judgement was final. “I do not bear him any ill will for his choice, nor do I doubt the woman’s piety. But there is a different between what I wish and what must be done.” 

Aethelflaed lapsed into silence, fiddling with the weathered nib of a dull, ink soaked quill. 

“You come with Danes in your party, I have noticed.” 

Aethelflaed looked at her father shiftily, trying to keep her humor light. “They are happy to stay in the town, Father. They will not enter your palace and risk setting tongues to wag.” 

“And why, I wonder, do you find yourself in need of Danish guards?” 

Aethelflaed looked away stubbornly, then back at him with a sigh. “Aethelred has left with half the garrison. I needed more men—”

Alfred interrupted. “Then why did you not send for aid from me? I would have happily sent men to swell your guard.” 

“The Mercians are proud, Father!” She countered with some fierceness. “They already resent the control of Wessex.” 

“More than the control of the Danes? I find that hard to believe.” 

“There are Danes who call themselves Mercian, you know. And Mercians who call themselves Dane.” 

Alfred seemed taken aback and paused for a long moment to look at her severely. 

“And those Danes stay on their own side of Watling Street, I would hope.” 

“The countryside is in motion, Father,” she explained. “The people are risen at the prospect of war. The borders of the Danelaw are not so fixed as they once were.” 

“In that case, may the Lord preserve us.” Still, Alfred sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I know the Danes have their uses. Be careful with them, Aethelflaed.” Aethelflaed wondered if he thought of Uhtred as he spoke. But he changed the subject quickly. “And what of Aethelred? Where has he gone? I was expecting him to come with you.” 

“I…I do not know, Father. He has been gone from Aegelsburgh for weeks. I hoped that you might know.” Aethelflaed felt a sense of shame now, admitting the truth to her father, but there was no sense in lying. He could always sniff out a lie. “I think he perhaps…oversees the fyrd at Oxenford, but I cannot say for certain.”

“You have not sought him out, in Oxenford?” 

“I have not.” In fact, she had avoided stopping in Oxenford on the way to Wintancester for the very reason that he might have been there. 

“Aethelred, he is—”

Aethelflaed cut him off. She had no desire to hear what he had to say. “I have done my duty, Father. I have done my duty for Wessex, and for England, for the sake of unity with Mercia. But Aethelred…father, there will never be any love between us. I am sorry. I pray…that you will trust in me. Whatever Aethelred plans, I am strong enough without him.” 

Her speech was met with a long and awkward silence. She looked anywhere in the room but at her father’s face, afraid of his wrath. But there was a warmth in his voice when he finally spoke. 

“Of course you are strong, my dear. You are a daughter of Wessex.” She smiled up at him, aglow with his tenderness. But he spoke again, and the bright moment splintered. “Still, you must find your husband and make amends. I would not have you estranged from Aethelred on the brink of war. We need him. Now more than ever.” 

So he did not trust her. It did not come as a great surprise. But that did not lessen the pain.


	27. Chapter 27

Uhtred’s company was far more pleasant, at least to begin. Aethelflaed did not know that the warrior was in Wintancester until her third day in the palace, when he found her in her father’s courtyard. He had skipped the Candlemas service, for which Aethelflaed envied him. 

“The King has stopped inviting me to service,” he explained with a sarcastic laugh. “I think he fears I will taint the hall with my presence.” 

Aethelflaed smiled at the joke. “He respects you, I know it. Even if he cannot say it himself.” She was surprised to notice the jealously she felt at her own words. Alfred may have distrusted Uhtred’s heathenry, but her father respected the man as a warrior and a leader. It was more than could be said for herself. 

Uhtred was looking around shiftily, as if assessing whether they were overheard. 

“And how goes our friend? The Lord Erik? Have you had success securing allies in Mercia?” 

Aethelflaed felt the knot of grief in her stomach surge at Uhtred’s words. 

“Lord Uhtred…” she said, looking up at his face with barely veiled desperation. “Erik is gone.” 

Uhtred’s face creased with confusion. “Gone? Lady?” 

“He has left.” Her voice was oddly savage. “We have had a falling out, and…he has left me. I do not know where he is now. I fear he is lost to me.” Her words sounded very far away as she tried to control her emotion. 

She was shocked to hear Uhtred laugh mildly. “I highly doubt that, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed turned away from his mockery, unwilling to look at him, but he grasped her lightly on the shoulder and stalled her leaving. “I did not mean to laugh at you, Aethelflaed. Lady..Aethelflaed. I only meant…Erik loves you.” Uhtred said the words awkwardly. “He loves you fiercely, Lady. I do not think you could lose him if you tried. He will find his way back to you.” 

“And what if I do not want him back?” 

“Is that truly how you feel?” 

Aethelflaed turned to look at him finally. “No..Uhtred, it is not how I truly feel. But…there is something that has broken between us, and…” 

“It will mend, Lady. It will mend.” 

Aethelflaed remained another week in Wintancester, torn between her reluctance to stay too long away from Aegelsburgh, and her unwillingness to brave the mud rutted roads again so soon. She found herself increasingly stifled by the overbearing formality of her mother and barely shrouded judgement of her father. She wished she could have continued her training with Birger, or even with Steapa if the King would allow it, but her father’s hall was busy with council and his courtyard thick with long-robed monks and priests, and she seemed unable to find the space for it amidst the palace grounds. So she spent her time lazily in her comfortable chamber in the company of Audr and her spinning work. 

“What are you thinking, Lady?” Audr asked, one afternoon, as the sun raked through the small glass windows, illuminating floating motes of dust in their beams. 

“I was thinking of Erik,” Aethelflaed replied, with a small shame. “I wonder if he is well.” 

Audr was silent for a long moment, as if biting her tongue. “ And are you well, Lady?” She said finally. “Have you recovered…?” Audr trailed off, and Aethelflaed knew the girl was thinking of the wide, dark mood that Aethelflaed had been trapped in for days after the fight. 

“As much as I am able, I reckon.” She silenced herself, afraid to speak what was truly on her mind, but then plunged ahead, closing her eyes against her embarrassment. “I am ashamed to say it, Audr. But I do not think I truly know what love is.” 

“I do not know if that is true, Lady.” Audr said, looking away with some unknown emotion. “I have seen the love you have for those in your life.” 

“But that is the confusing thing, is it not? There are many different kinds of love. And they all breed different feelings. There is the love of a mother for her children.”

“Like a hens with her chicks,” Audr suggested.

“And there is the love between siblings and friends.” 

“Like the trees who brace their branches together against the storm wind.” It was a game now. 

“Such is similar to the love between battle brothers.” 

“And sworn allies, perhaps.” 

“There is the love of a man for the lord who protects him.”

“Is there?” Audr gave a small mocking smile. 

“In some cases, yes. Do you not serve your lord with something akin to love?”

Audr merely made a small noise and looked away. 

“There is the love of a soldier for his king,” Aethelflaed continued, ignoring Audr’s mild insolence. “And the love of a King for his loyal man.”

“Ah, more like the cock and his poor pecked hen.” Aethelflaed ignored Audr again. The girl was in a strange, unfathomable mood.”

“And there is the love for things which are not people,” she continued. “The love for the land and the love for God.” 

“The love of home. And the ones who came before.” Audr added, her hands still twining the wool roving in her lap. 

“The love of a boy for his dog.” 

“And the shepherd for his sheep.” They both laughed, letting their banter lapse, as each tried to think of another example. But Aethelflaed sighed and spoke first. 

“And then there is the love of one body for another…in a way that is the same and different as all the others.” 

“And that is what you feel? For the Lord Erik?” Audr’s questions could always pierce through Aethelflaed’s defenses. She sighed, looking away. 

“I…have desired him. And I have trusted him. I have known the pleasure of his company…and the pleasure of his body, it is true.” She look back again at the girl’s wide, wild face. “But I cannot say I truly know him, Audr. Can love be more than falsehood, in such a state?”

Audr was silent. Aethelflaed continued. “And worse than that, worse than all of it, is that I do not know what purpose love truly serves. It feels cruel and unfeeling to say it, Audr, but I do not know that love truly matters in my life. It is only power that matters. And for all my royal birth and the riches of my life, I have little enough of that.”

Audr made a small doubtful noise. “You must not say that, Lady.” 

“I know it is unfair. I know I must sound so foolish and ungrateful, to be the daughter of a King and complain of my fate. But I cannot help it sometimes.”

“I think I understand.” Audr’s face was drawn and distant, and Aethelflaed thought she might be angry. “You are not a slave. But you are still a woman.” 

Aethelflaed sighed, relieved at Audr’s empathy. “I have always been in a cage, Audr.” She stared at the girl, her strange, unknowable friend, who was so kind and so different. “Have you, been caged?” She asked, tentatively. 

Audr gave her a hard look. “It is different, I think. There is still a cage…around my life. But the bars are wider, I’d say. I can slip through sometimes, unnoticed.” Audr’s mouth crooked with a wry smile. 

“And what is love to you?” 

Audr laughed. “It is a nice story, Lady. Perhaps I will know it someday. Or perhaps I will be humped by a sour old farmer until I die in childbed.” She laughed, yet a pained look remained on her face. “But it is nice to think of. It is nice to believe in. It is perhaps why I have followed you and Erik so far. For the sake of your love.” 

“What a disappointment I must be to you now.” Aethelflaed said, earnestly and bitterly. 

Audr’s face flashed fleetingly. Yes, it was anger that Aethelflaed saw in her eyes. But why? “Do not say that, Lady,” she said, with a hard note in her voice. “Erik loves you.”

“And what does love mean to Erik, I wonder? What am I to Erik, truly? Little more than a prize to be won. It is always the case with men. Even, I fear, with Erik.”

Audr swallowed her unfathomable anger and sighed, looking out the small, thick paned window glass. “Perhaps that is all we can hope for, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed swallowed the small, desperate feeling that floated in her throat like a trapped bird. “Perhaps.”


	28. Chapter 28

Before long, Aethelflaed’s restless impatience won out. It was time for her to return to Aegelsburgh, and face whatever it was that awaited her there. Alfred was eager for her to mend her breach with Aethelred, and had arranged for one of his own household guard to accompany her on her travels, a young man by the name of Edmund. She was distrustful of him by nature, but he proved to be kind and friendly as he helped to load and pack her cart and secure horses for their party. Soon, she found herself warming to his easy charm. 

It came as a surprise when Uhtred found her in the hours before her departure, his body taut with breathless urgency. 

“Lady Aethelflaed, we must speak in private!” He whispered, pulling her away from the bustle of the yard. He led her to a vacant corner of the King’s stables and turned quickly to face her. If she didn’t trust him so much, she would have felt some indecency at his urgent gesture. 

She did not need to prompt his tongue. “I have news, Lady. From my spies at Beamfleot.” Aethelflaed felt her pulse quicken and her stomach drop. 

“Erik—?”

“No,” Uhtred assured. “There is no news of Erik. But Aethelred…he has been seen at Beamfleot, treating with the Earl Siegfried.” 

Aethelflaed’s mind reeled. “Treating?”

“Speaking,” Uhtred amended. “I cannot know what was said. But…” 

“You suspect treachery?” 

“Do you not?” 

Aethelflaed paused, resting back against the stable wall with a wild, uncaged sigh. “I…would not put it past him. He has always resented my father’s overlordship.” 

“Of course he has. I do not fear saying in your presence that he is a weasel and we both know it.” 

Aethelflaed laughed wearily. “It is true.” 

“But would he plot with Siegfried against Wessex?” 

Aethelflaed thought for a moment. “Did he leave Beamfleot safely? Did your spies say?” 

“Yes. Where he went from there I do not know.” 

Aethelflaed cursed under her breath. “Then he has plotted some treachery, I am sure of it. There would be no other reason…”

“Lady,” Uhtred’s voice was severe now. “If Aethelred has plotted with Siegfried, then he will know the truth, of your relationship with Erik!” 

Aethelflaed felt all the blood drain from her face as the realization hit her a moment too late. “Uhtred…there was some danger,” she tried to explain, raggedly. “A trick, or a trap, set for Erik, it made no sense, and we thought he had escaped the danger, but…”

It made sense now. Aethelred knew the truth. “I m-must go to Aegelsburgh…” Aethelflaed stuttered as she stumbled backwards, her body moving even as her mind faltered. “I must make sure the fortress is secure…and Erik—” There was a note of desperate grief in her voice. She could not contain it. 

“I will go to Bedaford,” Uhtred offered. “As soon as I can take my leave of the King. I will look for Erik.” 

“Will you tell him? Will you tell my father? Of Aethelred’s treachery?” 

Uhtred looked away, sighing with frustration. “He will not believe me, Lady! Not without proof. He still suspects me of conspiring with Siegfried myself! There is nothing I can do… not until Aethelred acts openly.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, her mind already out the door and halfway down the road to Aegelsburgh. 

“Go, Lady.” Uhtred said. “I will find you soon.” 

They rode North as hard and as quick as they could. They avoided the muddy quagmire of the king’s road, abandoning Aethelflaed’s small carriage cart at a monastery north of the city, and spurring their horses along the dry raised embankments where the hedge and thistle had not yet rebounded from the winter’s freeze. Alfred would have chastised Aethelflaed for her bad example, but she had little thought to spare for her father and the wagging tongues that would find him. 

She spared little thought for much besides her worry and urgent need, as she realized when Edmund spurred his horse to ride beside her at a trot. 

“Lady Aethelflaed!” He called, over the loud drumming hoofbeats. “Have you given thought to where we should shelter tonight?”

Aethelflaed reeled her horse in, slowing the mare’s frantic pace and letting Edmund catch up to her side. “I have not, Edmund. We can camp in the woods if we must. I am accustomed to rough travel.”

Edmund surveyed her, taking in her tenseness and dis-ease. 

“Something is troubling you, Lady. Since we left Wintancester.”

Aethelflaed sighed impatiently. “I fear for the security of my estate at Aegelsburgh.” Edmund could not hide the surprise on his face. “Does it surprise you to learn I have enemies in Mercia, Edmund?” She said, perhaps more bitterly than was necessary. 

“I admit it does, Lady. But…perhaps I can provide some ease to your mind.” He paused, and Aethelflaed nodded her assent to allow him to continue. “My sister, she is a Mercian lady. She resides just North of the border with Wessex.” 

“You are Mercian?” Aethelflaed asked with surprise. 

“No, Lady. I am of Wessex, as is my sister. Our brother is an aelderman of march lands near the border of Cornwallem. But my sister Aelfwynn has married a Mercian, Lord Edgar. We could pass the night at their estate at Aebingdune, I am sure of it.” 

Aethelflaed had heard of Lord Edgar, but had never met him. Aethelred distrusted the man and refused to stop at his estate for hospitality on their travels to and from Wintancester. That, at least, was a mark in the man’s favor. 

“And this Lord Edgar, he would not be dismayed, at the size and…constitution of our party?” She gestured to the column around her, which numbered ten and five, a rough mixture of Danes and Saxons. 

Edmund raised his eyebrow and laughed lightly. “Lord Edgar is rich enough for the like of us, I promise.” 

So they set their path for Aebingdune. 

Aethelflaed was pleased to find that she liked Edgar and Aelfwynn. They were younger than she expected - not much older than herself, and close in age to each other. She watched them, with some unknown emotion caught in her chest, even as they turned their attentions back on her. Sometimes she wished she could be someone other than herself, and so know the measure of people outside of their need to favor and please her based on her status. But in truth, Edgar and Aelfwynn were kind and genuine and she soon became comfortable at their table. Aelfwynn spoke as often and as easily as her husband, and he did not seek to silence her. There was true affection between them, it was clear. 

“Will you stop at the Oxenford on your journey North, Lady?” Aelfwynn asked, part way through their meal. Aethelflaed swallowed, trying to choose her words quickly and carefully. 

“I was not planning to, Lady Aelfwynn. I trust that my husband has…firm control at the camp.” She wasn’t sure if her bitter loathing bled through her words, and whether she cared if it did. 

A look passed between the couple, as though they were communicating without speaking. Aethelflaed realized the feeling in chest was envy, and startled at the awareness. She envied what they shared together. She might have called it love, if she was not as jaded as she was. But Edgar’s words startled her more. 

“Lady,” he said tentatively. “Aethelred has not been to Oxenford in…six weeks? Maybe more? The fyrd is in disarray. Our man Eldric came from there just this week. The camp is ridden with illness, and the men grow restless and weak.” 

Aethelflaed sat in shocked silence. 

“I am sure that Aethelred has been busy with good reason,” Aelfwynn offered tentatively. But at that moment, something snapped in Aethelflaed. She spoke simply, without caution or regret. 

“Aethelred has been busy with treachery, Lady Aelfwynn. And apparently he has left his own people to rot in the wake of his quest for power.” Now Aelfwynn and Edgar sat, stunned and unspeaking, their eyes wide and their lips pressed tight. “I will go to Oxenford and try to set things right,” she announced. “Before Aethelred dooms us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always write several chapters ahead of where I am posting (cause I always find some reason to go back and switch things around once the plot progresses a bit). So just wanted to give you an update, that based on the current written chapter count and the narrative arc, I think this will end up being about 50 chapters (eeep!) Hope y'all are in for the long haul. I feel the more traditional writer's urge to wrap things up more quickly rather than continue to let the narrative evolve and complexify (it is a word, I looked it up). buuuuuut also it's so fun writing and I don't want the story to end! so yea, there's quite a bit left to go.


	29. Chapter 29

They left before dawn, as early as the men could be roused. The stop at Oxenford would add untold hours to their travel, and Aethelflaed was still desperate to return to Aegelsburgh as soon as possible. Before they left, Edgar and Aelfwynn gifted Aethelflaed with a finely woven blue cloak trimmed with fur, and a linden wood shield painted with Mercian standard. 

“I cannot accept this,” she protested. “Not when you have already helped pay for my ransom. I am in your debt.” 

Aelfwynn ignored her, smiling gracefully as she pressed the gifts into Aethelflaed’s hands. Edgar gave a formal bow and spoke. “Go with God, Lady, and in safety. The men of Aebingdune on yours to call upon should you need them. We pray that Mercia may have the leader she deserves.”

Aethelflaed nodded, hoping her deep gratitude was expressed in the simple gesture. “With God’s grace, may it be so.” 

Oxenford was as Edgar had warned. The smell hit Aethelflaed first, of overrun privy pits and sick men. The earth should have been fresh with the first flush of spring, but it stank only of rot and decay. The camp had grown since she had visited last, the tents spilling out across the fertile farmland around the fortified burgh, leaving nowhere for the grain to be seeded or the sheep to graze. No wonder there was sickness. 

By way of his man Eldric, Edgar had learned that Aethelred’s two generals dwelt in the town, away from the morass of the camp, punishing any deserters with whipping and mutilation. The men of the fyrd were eager to return to their home fields to plant the summer’s crop, but were forced to remain at Aethelred’s whim. 

As her column wound through the camp to the gates of the burgh, Aethelflaed felt a cool feeling descend on her body. It was not unlike the numbness she had once felt in Aethelred’s bed, or in her prison at Beamfleot. But it was not fear that fueled her now. All her fear and rage seemed to have tempered her into a cold iron tool. Whatever it was that possessed her, she wielded it with clear-sighted instinct, an immutable knowledge of what had to be done. She was not afraid. 

The gates opened to her Mercian standard and she rode into the town’s square at a trot. The hoofbeats of the horses echoed off the walls of the stone church and the finely built houses that the generals used as quarters. Aethelflaed did not dismount from her chestnut mare, but sat astride with her new shield before her like a battle standard. Some of the men behind her beat their shields with axes and swords, as Edmund and Birger pulled the Mercian generals from their quarters by force. Soon they knelt before Aethelflaed on the rough packed earth of the square with spearpoints hovering behind their necks. 

“Lady—” one started to speak, a fat balding man with a gray mustache and gold rings strewn up his arms. Aethelflaed cut him off shortly. 

“The fyrd will disband,” she spoke without emotion. “I will give the order to the men myself. They will return home to plow their fields and plant their crops and reconvene by the time of the new moon. You shall not be here when they return.” 

“Lady, with pardon, the Lord Aethelred—” Birger prodded his spear point at the man’s neck, and he fell silent. 

“The orders have changed. Your mismanagement of the camp and your cruelty has not gone unnoticed, nor will it be rewarded, _Lords._ ” She spoke the title sarcastically, but otherwise kept her speech even and cool. 

The other man had remained silent so far, but looked at Aethelflaed with a condescending glare. He was older than the other general, and it was clear he had grown comfortable with his own power, and the cruelty that created it. 

“And do you speak for the Lord Aethelred, _Lady?_ ” Aethelflaed smiled at his challenge, her eyes still hardened to points of cold disdain. 

“I speak as Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians,” she said simply. “And my word will not be challenged by you.”

The man struggled to rise. “So you speak as a traitor. I will not allow it. I will not—” Aethelflaed ignored him and simply nodded to Birger, who reached for the ax at his waist. Soon it came down on the man’s neck, ending his speech with a gurgling spurt of blood and the thud of his body as it hit the ground.

Aethelflaed did not flinch, not even when the other general let out a low, ragged scream in response. She spoke over his cry, pitching her voice loudly so he could hear her in his shock and fear. “You will leave this place and you will not return. You are welcome to tell anyone you meet that the Lady Aethelflaed controls the fyrd at Oxenford. If I see you again, I will kill you.” The man continued stuttering in shock, but Aethelflaed ignored him. 

“Take the head, Birger,” she continued, nodding towards the dead man. “I will show it to the men when I speak to them.” 

“Yes, Lady,” Birger said gruffly. 

And it was done. 

“Loyal men of Mercia!” Aethelflaed cried as loudly as she could. The men of the fyrd had gathered around her perch at the heart of the camp. Their faces were confused and uncertain, worn with hunger. Some eyes flashed with anger, others with fear. Her own men fanned out behind her, while a few mingled in the crowd, amplifying her speech for others further back. Still more men streamed towards the gathering like the rivulets of murky water, flowing from their dirty tents. 

“Loyal men of Mercia!” She cried again. “You have proved your loyalty, to this land, to the fyrd, to the lords who call on you to defend our home! Your loyalty has been rewarded with sickness, hunger, and cruelty, but you have endured. You have endured for the sake of Mercia!” The men jostled, starting to speak to one another lowly, their voices full of questions. 

“I know many of you have little reason to love me - Aethelflaed of Wessex. The daughter of King Alfred, whose ransom was the scourge of your kingdom.” The whispering grew louder. “But like you, I am loyal to the land of Mercia, and I will make an enemy of any man who seeks to see her people suffer!” 

She nodded to Birger, who rode up beside her, brandishing a pole. The general’s gray faced head sat skewered on its sharpened tip. “And so I have executed the Lord Godwin and taken his head as my trophy, in revenge for his treatment of the loyal men of Mercia!” 

There was chaos now. The men shouted, some in shock and some in jubilation. A ragged, pulsing cheer started to blossom in the crowd. The men fell silent as she started to speak again. 

“You have endured a long winter in Oxenford. And now you shall return to your homes. You will kiss your wives and children. You will plow your fields.” There was a bawdy laugh from the crowd, and Aethelflaed did not blush at the double meaning of her words. “You will reclaim your strength. And when you return at the new moon, we shall prepare for war!” 

The noise from the crowd was continuous now, churning and growing. Aethelflaed had to yell even louder to be heard over it. 

“When the invaders come, we will kill ANY man that seeks to take what is ours! I, Aethelflaed, will fight by your side and die by your side if necessary. ARE YOU WITH ME, MEN OF MERCIA?!”

The answering scream hit her like a roaring wave. 


	30. Chapter 30

“You are the only one I can trust, Birger. You must remain.”

They sat at the long table in the lavish quarters that the generals had outfitted for themselves. Aethelflaed would have liked to continue to Aegelsburgh, but she had been convinced of the sense of staying the night in Oxenford and starting fresh again in the morning. Now she attended to the final details of administering the camp before her departure.

“Lady - I would rather go with you to Aegelsburgh. We still do not know where Lord Erik is, or what awaits you at the fortress.”

Aethelflaed brushed aside his concerns with a wave of her hand.

“And if Aethelred returns to Oxenford, all that we have accomplished here could be lost. You must stay and help prepare the camp for the men’s return, and hold it for me until we must march.”

“The men will not heed my command, Lady. Not if they learn I am a Dane.”

“They will, Birger. You are a true Mercian, and you fight for neither Saxon nor Dane but for peace and prosperity. That is what this land needs, and that is what these men need. They will heed you if you let them.”

Birger looked at her with a queer expression on his face. “What is it?” She asked, shortly.

“Have I spoken falsely?”

“No, Lady. Excuse my insolence.” He looked awkward. “It is only…there is a fierceness in you, I have just noticed. You have always been strong, but this is something different. I mean no offense.”

Aethelflaed smiled, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I take no offense, Birger.” She paused for a breath. “I think I know what you mean. I feel changed myself. I think it is only - I have little left to lose anymore. I am not so afraid as I once was.”

Birger had a pained look in his eyes. “Lady - please, if I can ask something of you.”

“Anything. You are my loyal friend.”

“Find the Lord Erik, please? And make sure that he is safe. If I was not bound to serve your wish, I would do it myself.”

“Birger—”

“I know there is some hardship between you and the Lord, and I am sorry for it. But please, promise me that you will find him.”

Aethelflaed looked at him for a long, painful moment.

“I promise, Birger.” 

It was a full day’s ride from Oxenford to Aegelsburgh, and Aethelflaed was weary when they arrived as darkness fell around them. Her weariness was exacerbated by the nervous trepidation she felt as they got closer to the fortress. She was still uncertain of what she would find there.

The small village that sprawled outside the walls of the fortress was quiet and shuttered when they arrived, but bright torches flickered along the walls of the ramparts, and Aethelflaed could see the men prowling them from a distance. One of her men blew a horn as the party approached the closed gates and Aethelflaed waited for the doors to open. They waited for a long moment in the descending darkness, as the warm flush of riding dissipated into the damp chill.

“Open, for the Lady Aethelflaed!” Another of her men called, authoritatively.

After another long moment, Aethelflaed knew in her heart and her gut that something was wrong. Her body shuddered with cold realization at the sound of the voice.

“And why,” Aethelred spoke sneeringly, “would I open my gates to the _Lady_ Aethelflaed?” She could not see him, but he must have been perched on the ramparts in the darkness that pooled between the torch lights. “The Lady Aethelflaed is a traitorous bitch and a _heathen whore_. She is not welcome in _my_ hall.”

“Retreat.” Aethelflaed spoke, but her voice was rough and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Her body, too, felt slow and stuck, as if mired in mud.

“Did you really think your dumb dogs could hold my own fortress against me?” Aethelred laughed mockingly, and Aethelflaed watched with rising sickness as something dark and round sailed from the ramparts and landed to roll in front of her. It was Deagol’s head.

Aethelflaed found her voice. “Retreat!” She yelled. “Pull back from the walls!” The arrows came soon after, and Aethelflaed raised her shield to block her body from the onslaught. Two of her men veered around to cover her from behind as they retreated, and she heard the thud and groan as one was taken in the back, falling from his horse in front of the gates.

“To the woods!” She cried again, trying to beat back the hopelessness that rose in her chest. “As fast as you can!”

Soon they were out of range and the arrows ceased falling. Aethelflaed turned her horse breathlessly, watching the gate from the relative safety of the village. But it did not open, and no warriors pursued them into the night.

The men were already halfway to the forest edge, and she spurred the mare to follow them, leaving the dead man behind with regret. They were safe from Aethelred’s attack, but now they faced the growing darkness without shelter or safety.

Aegelsburgh was lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but there are some longer ones coming!


	31. Chapter 31

They sheltered the night in the hollow of a ridge, shrouded by trees in the woods miles East of Aegelsburgh. They had fled long enough to know that they weren’t pursued, but Edmund had almost needed to pull Aethelflaed from her horse to convince her to let the men rest.

Something had flamed up in her, upon hearing Aethelred’s voice and watching him throw Deagol’s head to her feet. It had made her mind and her will a prisoner of her need to flee and put as much distance between Aethelred and herself. She was ashamed of it, ashamed of how she had lost her resolve. But they were safe, for now, all besides the man who had lost his life at the walls. And they had to take their rest.

But Aethelflaed could not rest, despite the soft nest of cloaks that Audr crafted for them to share beneath a sheltering bough. She was drawn to the small fire, where some men still sat, crumbling stale bread to share and drinking the last of the weak ale stored in their pouches from Oxenford. The men looked tired, their faces strangely shadowed by the flickering firelight. The trees loomed around them like the specters of unseen giants in the gloom. Aethelflaed’s heart felt very low.

“Where will we go, Lady?” One of the men asked. He was a Saxon named Edgewulf, and he had been speaking feverishly with Edmund before she approached. The men watched her for a moment, waiting for her response, before Edmund interjected.

“You must go back to Oxenford, Lady,” he insisted. “You hold the town. It will be the safest place for you.”

“I cannot.” Aethelflaed’s voice was very hoarse and quiet. She cleared her throat self-consciously.

“Lady-”

“I cannot.” She repeated, with more strength. “I must cross Watling Street, and head to Bedaford. I have allies there whom I must report to.”

“Lady - you would leave Saxon Mercia to go to Daneland?” Edmund’s voice was incredulous. “When your own man holds Oxenford?”

Aethelflaed was very tired. She missed Birger, and wished he was there to support her. She missed Erik. It was like a hole in her heart.

“Birger will hold Oxenford against Aethelred if he must.”

“So you are at war with your husband. With the Lord Aethelred.” Edmund’s voice did not hold a question.

“You have seen the truth for yourself, Edmund. He is at war with me. Tomorrow we ride for Daneland.”

She found her rest soon after.

Edmund’s protests dogged her as they made their preparations in the morning.

“Lady, I cannot let you—”

“You cannot let me?” She turned from the saddle of her mare, facing him down with barely mustered fierceness. “Are you here as my protector or as my captor, Edmund?”

“Lady, I am a friend, of Wessex and Mercia. I want what is best for you, and for the realm!”

“You held no protest when I executed the Lord Godwin in Oxenford for his treatment of the fyrd. You must have known such an action would displease Aethelred, and in turn my father.”

Edmund sputtered mildly. “You — you had little choice, Lady! The men were starving!”

“And I assure you I have little choice now.” She stared him full in the face. “I have welcomed you with kindness and friendship, but I know you are my father’s spy, and I will not hesitate to send you back to Wintancester if I must.”

Edmund’s eyes grew wide under his dark curls, then his brow furrowed and his face grew severe. “Lady, with all respect, what can you have to hide to from your father, the King?” She did not miss his sanctimonious tone, nor his emphasis on her father’s title.

She smiled serenely at the question. “I have nothing to hide from him at all, Edmund. You will return to Winchester and give your report, I am sure. Please do include the fact that my husband, Lord Aethelred, barred me from his fortress and attacked myself and my men with deadly force, yourself included. I am certain he will be eager to learn the truth of the man he has set so much hope upon.”

She swung herself up onto her saddle, calling to the men around her as they finished packing and preparing their tack. “We ride to Bedaford!” She called.

Edmund still stood below, looking as though he wished to grab the reins of her horse and stall her from leaving. “And shall I tell your father that, as well? That his daughter rides to Daneland to treat with heathen war lords?”

“Tell him whatever you wish, Edmund.” She spurred her horse to trot away from his grasp, and his incredulous shock, circling up with the men as their horses neighed and stamped with nervous anticipation.

“The time has come to dispense with pretense and half-truths!” She spoke to the gathered men. “You have all served me loyally, and risked your lives in my service. It is only fair that you learn the truth of our position.” Edmund still stood in earshot of the circle, looking awkward and tentative. It mattered little. She would not say anything he did not already know.

“The Lord Aethelred has turned against me, and I against him. I have learned that he plots with the warlord Siegfried, and may even now be planning to hand Mercia over to the invaders in return for the chance to see himself crowned as a puppet king.” The Saxons’ faces were stark in the morning light, showing shock and grim realization. Some did not look surprised. The Danes were unfazed.

“I go to Daneland now to meet with my allies there. As many of you know, I have treated with the lords of Danish Mercia and will continue to do so, for the sake of this land. It is too long that we have divided ourselves as Saxon and Dane, when in truth we are all Mercians. I make no enemy of a Danish lord, Christian or otherwise, who shares my true goal - peace and prosperity in the realms of England.” She took a breath, feeling the weight of what she was asking settle on her shoulders - and those of the men.

“I will not command any one of you to follow me along this path,” she continued. “You may be released from any oath you have sworn to me if you so wish it. But I ask you to join me, in protecting this land against those who would use it for their own ambition and gain!”

In the pregnant pause that followed, one of the Saxon men spoke - Edgewulf, who had sat around the fire with her the night before. “Lady - was…” his voice trailed off and his face looked pained. “Was that Deagol’s head? That the Lord Aethelred threw below the walls?”

Aethelflaed’s heart faltered a bit at the tenderness in the man’s voice. She remembered then that he had been especially close to Deagol.

“Yes, Edgewulf.” She said, with true sympathy. “I am sorry.” Edgewulf’s face flashed with grief, and then anger. “If you follow me, I cannot promise you safety, or victory. But I can promise that we will do whatever we can to avenge the deaths of our brothers-in-arms.”

“Then I am with you, Lady.” Edgewulf said, fiercely. There was a growl of assent from the other Saxons. The Danes merely nodded and held their hands to the hilts of their swords.

Aethelflaed’s eyes flashed with pleasure as she surveyed the men, then drifted to the spot where Edmund had stood. He was gone.

“You did not tell the men the whole truth, Lady.”

Audr spoke in a low and furtive voice, as she rode next to Aethelflaed in the column. They had ridden hard for several hours before slowing to a walk to rest the horses.

Aethelflaed looked at the girl sharply, a feeling of shameful unease in her stomach.

“I told them as much of it as I could.” She said defensively.

“You do not trust them but you expect them to trust you?”

Aethelflaed felt her frustration rise and countered sharply. “You have been among the Saxons long enough to know our ways, Audr. A traitorous man is given more respect than an unfaithful wife.” She looked away bitterly. “Perhaps there is no other truth to tell.”

“Lady?”

She couldn’t speak his name there, out of caution and grief. But she didn’t need to. “Perhaps he is gone from me forever.”

She did not wait for Audr’s protest. She merely spurred her horse ahead, breaking out into a canter again.

Aethelflaed called first at Lord Cuthbert’s hall, where she was given a warm and generous welcome and an essential reprieve for her exhausted party.

“I am glad to see that you are well, Lady Aethelflaed.” Cuthbert offered over a meal of hot broth and bread. Aethelflaed could barely speak for the need to fill her belly with warm food. “My spies tell me that there was a skirmish at Aegelsburgh, but they could tell me nothing of your fate.”

“I was not there,” Aethelflaed admitted, trying to speak gracefully while swallowing. “My husband, Lord Aethelred took the fortress from my garrison while I was on the road from Wintancester. We had to flee for our lives when we arrived.”

“So Mercia it at war with herself, at last.” Cuthbert had a tight look in his eyes, but he smiled at Aethelflaed with kindness.

“I’m afraid so, Lord Cuthbert.”

“And what of our mutual friend?” Cuthbert asked. Aethelflaed stared blankly for a moment too long. “The Lord Erik?”

 _Of course,_ Aethelflaed realized. The man knew the truth. He was trustworthy. _But_..

“He is not in Bedaford?” Aethelflaed suppressed the ragged panic that threatened to rise in her chest at the dawning realization. “I had hoped to find him here. I have not seen him in…three weeks.”

Cuthbert’s brow creased and his nostrils flared. “Lady, the last news I received of him was that he rode West across Watling Street at the bidding of a messenger - I assumed to meet with you. I have not seen him since. I have been awaiting news, a bit impatiently, I must ad—”

“When was this?” Aethelflaed’s voice was commanding as she reeled inwardly at the news.

“Well…it must have been three weeks ago, as you said.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. They were both quick enough to put the pieces together, neither needing to speak the inevitable conclusion out into the air. Trustworthy as Cuthbert might have been, Aethelflaed dared not speak the true shape of her fears and suspicions to him: that Aethelred and Siegfried had plotted together to set a trap, that even now Erik suffered some unspeakable torment, alone and in doubt of her love. No, she could not speak such a fear. 

“I will send scouts out to try to find news of him.” Cuthbert said quietly. “We will find him, Lady.”

“And what if we do not?” Aethelflaed’s voice was low and strangely void of emotion. Cuthbert looked at her appraisingly. He was thinking of politics, she knew, weighing what chances their plan would have of succeeding without a male warrior to claim the title alongside her, without a Northman to bond the Danes and Saxons of the splintered land they called home.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” He responded evasively. “And if we cannot…”

Aethelflaed looked at him and could not restrain her words. “And if we cannot, you will endure just fine, I am sure, as you always have, straddling the conflict. It is only Erik and I who will lose our lives.”

Cuthbert nodded stiffly, his face an unreadable mask. “I will leave you to your rest, Lady.”


	32. Chapter 32

Aethelflaed was helpless in her impotence. There was little she could do but wait for news from the scouts, heart in her throat, her mind chased each moment by haunting visions: Erik, dead in a ditch. Erik, imprisoned and tormented by a Viking warlord. Erik, chained to the deck of a ship as a rowing slave. She had bridled at all mentions of their love, pushing the thought of it away from herself as often as she could, in all her anger and grief. But when it came down to it, she was lost to her fear for him. And yet, even the truth of her feelings did not ease her heart. They only confirmed her darkest thoughts. What had their love done for them, she asked herself bitterly, besides bring strife and pain, worry and fear? Her love for him could do nothing to help him now. What use did it serve? It could only bring torment. 

Yet the bitterness did not dam the grief that raised tears to her throat, spilling from her in private moments of regret. So she found herself weeping when she could, alone in her chamber before sleep took her, or in the underused chapel at the edge of Cuthbert’s estate, or in Cuthbert’s orchard, where the Apples still stood barren but warmed with the promise of spring. 

It was here that Audr found her on the third day since their arrival, deep in her tears. There had been no news from the scouts, and Cuthbert had started to look at Aethelflaed, his face hard and grim with resignation, unwilling to speak what he clearly thought was an inevitable truth. Cuthbert was kind, but he was pragmatic above all else. He would not spare sentiment for what he thought was a lost cause. His resignation loosed a spell of loneliness in Aethelflaed, as if she were alone in her hope and her loss. But of course, that was not the case. 

“Are you unwell, Lady?” It was Audr’s voice, and Aethelflaed startled slightly at the sound, hurrying to wipe the tears and hide the evidence of her distress. It was futile, though; her face was streaked and her eyes swollen with her grief. She looked at Audr, feeling herself to be very vulnerable, thinking the girl would come to her side and offer comfort. But there was a queer expression on Audr’s face. Something was shuttered within her. Aethelflaed suddenly felt even more self conscious than she had been before. She turned her face away. 

“I am well enough, Audr,” she answered. “Just…weary. I am so tired. I feel I have had no rest…no pause, since Wintancester. Since I first learned from Uhtred of the danger to Aegelsburgh…and to Erik.” 

Audr made a small noise. Was it of agreement? Or dissent? “But you knew of the danger before then Lady.” She spoke suddenly, as if she had been holding back an outburst. “You knew since Lord Erik came with news of the false message.” 

Aethelflaed felt suddenly confused and anxious. “I didn’t know…I couldn’t know, then…not the truth of it. What could I have done?”

She realized with a sense of dull shock that Audr was _angry,_ and Aethelflaed’s words seemed to rile her even more. 

The girl looked away, her face barely masking her impatience. “We could not understand, Birger and I, after Lord Erik left. We could not understand why you did not send men after him, to ensure his safety. I thought Birger should have gone anyway himself, but he would not break his vow to you, nor his vow to Erik, which was to keep you safe.” There was a bitterness in her voice that cut into Aethelflaed’s core. 

Aethelflaed stood up sharply, suddenly bristling. “And you think he was wrong to do so? You think Birger should have ridden off alone? Perhaps to meet his death?” 

Audr opened her mouth, then closed if, as it shuttering her own anger. Aethelflaed’s quick flash of anger melted into something more pitiful…a surge of weak-willed desperation. 

“He left, Audr,” she said, almost pleadingly. “He left me. We fought…and there were hard words exchanged. Things I regret, truly. But he left in the night! He abandoned me. I could not go running after him.” 

“Why not?” Audr’s anger had not melted, but there something else beneath it, a carefully concealed fear and sadness that Aethelflaed had not noticed before. 

“Because…I am not a foolish child, Audr! I can not run around following the will of my own heart!” The words came out louder and more harshly than she had intended. Audr’s face grew red. 

“And that is what I am, I suppose…just a foolish child.” Audr’s voice was thin and cold.

“That is not what I said! That is not what I meant…Audr…” The girl would not meet her eye.

“I will speak freely, Lady-”

“Have you not already?” 

Audr glared at her and continued. “I will speak freely, and you may do with me whatever you wish.” 

Aethelflaed snorted. “Do you think I would punish you?” 

“Would you not? You are my lady, I am your servant. It is not my place to challenge you.” 

Aethelflaed looked at her wildly. “You..are not my servant! You are…” She did not know what to say. She had thought Audr to be her friend, but she was not sure any longer. “I would have you speak freely, Audr.” She spoke with as much grace as she could muster, even though her insides were roiling. 

Audr took a breath. “I have followed you…from Beamfleot, along every path that I could. I have followed you, because I thought you to be kind and gentle, because…because I saw how much you wished to love…and to trust in the goodness of the world, despite all that had happened to you.” She paused and Aethelflaed could not find her voice to speak. Audr continued. “And yes, I have followed you for the sake of Lord Erik as well, for the love between you, and for the love I bear for him myself.” 

Aethelflaed felt suddenly awkward. “Audr…” 

“I do not desire him!” She snapped. “He is my friend.” The word fell like a harsh rebuke. Aethelflaed fell silent. 

“But something has changed in you,” Audr continued. “You have strengthened, yes, grown into a leader. I have marveled at you…at times. But there is also something…hard and almost cruel that…I do not know where it is has come from, Aethelflaed.” Suddenly Audr’s voice was soft and tender. It caught Aethelflaed off guard, cutting into her heart. “But I feel very distant from you now.” 

Aethelflaed swallowed, trying to keep down the flush of shame that threatened to rise within her. “Lord Godwin,” she started, “I had little choice, Audr, but perhaps…I was too harsh.” 

“Lord Godwin got what he deserved,” Audr assured. “It is not that…it is…it is hard to explain, Lady.” Audr suddenly seemed as flustered at Aethelflaed felt. Her anger had thawed a bit. Aethelflaed was grateful, even as she was disconcerted. “It worries me…that you think your love is useless to you. That you think your heart to be a weakness. Lady, without your heart you are not stronger. Without your love, you are nothing.” 

“I—” Aethelflaed opened her mouth to retort, but found she had nothing to say. Audr’s words sunk into her. The girl’s face was flushed, but her anger had melted to something more sheepish, defiant but shy. Aethelflaed felt a dam release in her heart. She sat back down in a flounce of skirts. She was suddenly tired, suddenly unwilling to fight. “Audr…” she spoke with a shuddering sigh. “Maybe you are right.” Audr sighed as well, perhaps in relief. “I have felt something hard inside myself, something cold and angry rising like a nadder* in the grass. I do not like it, but I feel I cannot help it. How can hope to hold my own power in this world without hardening my heart?” 

Audr looked away, a wry smile on her face. “I do not know, Lady. It is not my fate to lead men. But I trust that you can find a way.” 

“I wish I could trust, in such a hope.” 

Audr opened her mouth to speak again, but she was cut off but the arrival of a breathless, red faced man. It was Magni, one of Aethelflaed’s Danish guards, and he spoke without slowing his frantic breath. 

“Lady — Aethelflaed. There is…news! A scout has returned, with Erik’s man Sig! He is in the hall with Cuthbert now!” 

Aethelflaed and Audr looked at each other for the briefest of moments, their faces a mirror of alarm, and then they jumped up wordlessly, following the man at a run, without a thought for decorum. 

The man Sig was pale and wearied, covered in road dust and grime. He looked as if he had been walking for days without much food or water. But he had ridden from Aegelsburg with Erik three weeks past, and now he was here. Aethelflaed pushed through the entrance to the hall where men crowded, Audr close behind her. 

“You will leave us!” She commanded to the men who gathered at the door. “Bring bread and broth for the man.” She directed this at a passing servant. 

“I cannot eat, Lady,” Sig protested. His voice was very weak and thin. “I can barely drink ale. I have not eaten—” He coughed suddenly, and then retched, his body shaking. The man was on the verge of starving. 

Aethelflaed shared a grim look with Cuthbert, who stood, arms crossed, beside the stool where Sig sat breathlessly. A servant closed the large paneled door, blocking out the observers. 

“Sig…” Aethelflaed pitched her voice as calmly as she could, trying not to startle or press the man. “What happened to you?” 

He took a shuddering breath and looked at her, his eyes filled with unspoken grief. Aethelflaed felt her heart race in anticipation. 

“It was an ambush…” he said dryly. “We rode from Aegelsburg in the night, but there was an ambush waiting…close to Watling Street.” 

Aethelflaed clenched her jaw but did not speak. Audr had been right. Aetheflaed had been a fool to let Erik go. But there was no place for her regret now. 

“We fought them off, as best we could…but we were overpowered. Dagfinn was killed.” Aethelflaed loosed a small sound of grief and turned to see Audr with her eyes closed and her head in her hands. 

“And the Lord Erik?” 

“He and I were captured by the warriors. They killed our horses and marched us North, bound to walk behind their mounts. They…were not kind to us.” He looked away and Aethelflaed steeled herself. 

“What happened to Erik?” She did not want to stress the man, but she got the sense that he was delaying the story, as if reluctant to tell her the inevitable outcome. It made her feel sick. 

“We thought they would sell us as slaves, in the North. We tried to escape - one night. I had managed to steal a knife, and we slit the scout’s throat before running. But…we were very weak and tired…and hungry. They hunted us down the next day.” Sig would not meet Aethelflaed’s eyes, and she was realized he was ashamed to speak the next part of his story. 

“Tell me what happened, Sig. Whatever happened…it is my own fault, not yours.” 

Sig looked at her with wide, surprised eyes, and stuttered into speech again. “W-we were separated, Lady, hiding in different spots of the forest, and…the men…they found Erik. They did not find me.” He turn away, his shame resurfacing. “I would have fought to defend him, Lady, but…there was nothing I could do. It would have only got me killed, or captured with him.” 

Aethelflaed closed her eyes briefly, mustering all the compassion she could. Sig was right. And she was grateful that he was here now, to tell his story. 

“I agree, Sig,” she assured him. “You could not have saved him. You did the right thing.” 

“But Lady—” he continued, urgently. “I realized then that they were not slavers. Once they had the Lord Erik, they did not even try to find me. They did not care. Maybe they would have sold me, for the profit. But…it was… Lord Erik they truly wanted.” 

Aethelflaed eased back. She knew her face must have been etched with pain. She did not know what to say to the man, or to Cuthbert, or to Audr. Regret and guilt swam within her, like sick fishes in a dirty pond. 

Thankfully, Cuthbert spoke into the silence. 

“You have not seen Lord Erik since?” 

Sig shook his head, but struggled to speak again. “No…but - Lady-” He addressed his words to Aethelflaed’s stricken face, as if knowing she needed to hear them. “That…that was nearly three weeks ago. I have been wandering the country side since then, trying to find my way back…without getting beaten for beggary. I…have heard talk. In the Northern towns.” 

“What talk, Sig?” 

“They say that Lord Erik was taken captive by the Danish Lord of Hreopandune and held for ransom.” 

Aethelflaed’s mind reeled. She glanced at Audr, and then at Cuthbert, who both fixed her with steely looks. “Then we must go to Hreopandune. We must treat with this Lord… Lord…?” 

“Lord Olaf.” Cuthbert answered, grimly. 

“Lord Olaf.” Aethelflaed echoed, trying to sound like she had a plan. “If he holds Erik for ransom, then he may to be open to negotiation.” 

“But for what price?” Cuthbert asked incredulously. “And at what risk? Hreopandune is a strong fortress. The camps there have held Danish warriors since the days of Ubba’s army. Theirdefenses will be strong and their suspicions high. King Alfred’s daughter cannot simply ride into Hreopandune!” 

“Well, I must try!” Aethelflaed retorted. “I will not surrender Lord Erik’s life so easily.” 

Cuthbert opened his mouth to retort, but Sig was trying to speak again, his voice low and weak below the rising sound of their argument. 

“Lad-y… Lord…I…am sorry. I wish I did not have to tell you this…but the Lord Erik is no longer at Hreopandune.” 

Aethelflaed turned to look at him mutely. 

“I got news from a tinker…just yesterday. He has been ransomed. By the Lord Siegfried. It is his brother who holds him now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nadder is actually the old English word for “adder” - a type of poisonous snake found in the British Isles. Apparently, people using the word became confused as to whether they were saying “a nadder” or “an adder” and so the word evolved into “adder” over time. Just taking this opportunity to use some of my acquired knowledge about random etymological facts, because why not? ;)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Big ol’ perspective switch. Also: some kind of intense stuff in this chapter. Body mutilation, mentions of torture, and some gross sexual behavior that is definitely non-consensual from a modern perspective (not described graphically). If you don’t want to read this chapter, skip to the notes at the end for a summary.

**Part Four: Danelaw**

“Erik.” Siegfried’s voice came low and harsh in the small room. “Erik!” He nudged the sleeping form with his foot, but Erik did not stir. 

Siegried took in the sight of his brother, thin and pale, his eyes shifting beneath his lids as he slept fitfully. He was filthy and smelled of old blood and shit. His left hand lay motionless in his lap, a bloody, mangled mess. Siegfried crinkled his nose in disgust. 

“What you have done to him?” He asked the man next to him - one of Lord Olaf’s thegns, who had led him into the cell. Siegfried did not remember his name and did not care. “I paid 200 marks of silver for a warrior, not a half dead cripple.” 

The man scoffed and sneered. “You paid 200 marks of silver for your brother. You should be grateful he is not fully dead.” 

Siegfried positioned himself so that he loomed over the other man, pointing his knife hand threateningly at his chest. “I _paid_ your lord to take him captive and hold him _safe_ \- something he could not have done without _my_ information. He is not _your_ hostage. You were paid to do a job, and you’ve done it poorly.” 

The man had become pale, and spoke with a slight stutter. “I-it was not I who carved up his hand! Y-you will have to take that up with Lord Olaf.” 

Siegfried grunted. “I intend to,” he said darkly. 

Erik stirred suddenly at the noise, and his eyes fluttered open weakly. Siegfried turned to face him and saw his face widen first in surprise, and then - unexpectedly - relief, before clouding with fear. The sight of it pulled at something in Siegfried. He pushed the feeling away. 

“Sieg…fried?” Erik’s voice was thin. He tried to sit up, cringing at the pain. “What is going on? What is happening here?”

Siegfried and the nameless thegn surveyed him wordlessly. The thegn spoke after a moment, as if overriding his better judgement. “Why do you care what state he’s in, anyway? Are you not just going to kill him yourself?” 

Siegfried sighed at the sight of his brother’s confused, startled face. “I have not decided yet.” 

“We will have to take off half the hand.” Siegfried said grimly. He spoke to Thorulf, his second in command, who looked at Erik with a doubtful expression on his face. 

“Lord…” he started, questioningly. “If I may be so bold - what is the point?”

Siegfried growled lowly. “To save his hand from rotting and killing him, of course.” 

“So you plan to let him live?” Thorulf asked. Siegfried merely glowered at him silently and turned to prep the surgery. 

“Get a sharp axe blade!” He barked. “And stoke up the fire. We need it as hot as possible.”

“S-siegfried.” The voice was still thin and rasping, like the sound of ghastly shade whispering at him, pulling at his mind. He wished he could swat it away like an irritating fly. He did not turn to face his brother, but Erik continued. “Just l-let me die, Siegfried.”

Erik had not spoken since the cell. Throughout the long ordeal since then - as Erik was moved, limping from his rotting cot and fed a small meal in Olaf’s hall, as Siegfried had bullied Olaf into letting them leave for a lower price than they had initially agreed, as they had traveled half a day to put distance between themselves and the sour men of Hreopandune - throughout all that, Erik had been as mute as a corpse. Now the sound of his voice grated at Siegfried. He wished his brother would remain silent. It was easier that way. 

“W- why are you doing this, Siegfried? What do you want from me?” Siegfried ignored him, stoking up the fire to heat around the axe head. “I don’t want this, Siegfried!” Erik’s voice was more desperate now. “Do not do this!” 

“You will endure it,” Siegfried said gruffly. “As I endured it, when Uhtred of Bebbanburg took off my sword hand. The man _you_ plotted with against me.” 

Siegfried turned to look at his brother, and saw Erik’s eyes wide and his face pale. He pulled the blade from the fire with tongs and gestured for a man to come with another axe to beat it with. 

“Hold him!” He commanded, and two men grabbed Erik and held his arm fixed, with his hand resting on the top of a stout oak stump. Another man stuffed a piece of leather bridle into Erik’s protesting mouth. 

The screams were muffled, but Siegfried still flinched as the axe head pounded through Erik’s ruined hand. 

“I need honey, and goose grease salve.” Erik spoke more now, although Siegfried ignored him most of the time. Maybe his silence emboldened his brother.

“No, you don’t.” Erik rode in a cart, still weak from his torture and surgery. Siegfried thought he looked like a sick child, and the sight disgusted him. 

“It works, Siegfried.” 

Siegfried scoffed. “Did some herb wife whore try to sell you that?” 

“Do you wish me to die?” Erik’s voice was no longer weak and thin. Siegfried was not sure whether he was relieved or not. “If so, just kill me and be done with it. Do not leave me to torment with a festered burn.” 

“So that is how you recovered…from your gutting at Beamfleot.” Siegfried did not look at his brother as he spoke, but he felt Erik’s eyes on him. 

“I was not gutted.” 

“No, I suppose Uhtred saved you from that fate.” Siegfried tried to keep his voice light, but it sounded like fire simmering on iron. 

Erik fell silent, and did not speak again. 

They plodded South and East through the Danelaw, heading for East Anglia, and Beamfleot. Siegfried’s men and allies roved and raided through East Anglia without challenge from Guthrum. The Christian Dane was getting old, they said, and sick, keeping to his fortress and praying for his soul’s journey in the afterlife. Siegfried thought it was pathetic. Soon East Anglia would belong to the Heathens, and Mercia and Wessex along with it. And the Gods would smile. 

Siegfried stopped in Medeshamstede on the journey. He had business to attend to there. He left Erik with half the men outside the village, but his brother’s cold, hollow eyes dogged him as he departed. 

The Lord Eluf Thorsson was gruff and stingy, as Siegfried had come to expect. His town was a dump, but his hall was pleasant enough, and his wife was pretty. Siegfried winked at her as he entered the hall. She did not speak, but her face turned red and she disappeared in a rustle of skirts. It didn’t matter. He would have his fun later. 

“So you have found your brother, Lord Siegfried?” Eluf asked, pushing a trencher of cold dry meat towards Siegfried and his men. Siegfried glowered at the weak offering, but ate it anyway. 

“Yes,” Siegfried replied, swallowing. He offered no more information. 

“And you are grateful, for the information I gave you?” 

Siegfried snorted dramatically. “What information?” 

Eluf bristled visibly. “That Erik was in Bedaford! That he plotted against you.” 

Siegfried sighed and threw a small sack of silver on the table. “It was a start,” he admitted. “Little enough to go on. But I tracked his movements in the end.” 

Eluf’s beady eyes glanced from Siegfried to the sack of silver for a few long moments, before he tentatively reached out to grab the sack. Siegfried stalled his hand with his own. He picked his teeth with his knife as he spoke. 

“Do not be mistaken, Thorsson. This is not a _payment_. This is a _gift_ \- a token of my…appreciation for our ongoing relationship. I will look forward to seeing you again - and your men - when we march on Wessex.” 

Eluf swallowed. “Yes, Lord.” Siegfried withdrew his hand and slid the sack the rest of the way across the table. 

“Do you have women, Thorsson?” He asked, suddenly lighthearted. 

“Women, Lord?” 

Siegfried laughed, turning to look around at his men. “Yes, Thorsson, _women_. My men and I could use a good hump. Daughters, cousins…your wife would do nicely.” 

Eluf’s face was turning a sickly shade. “My…w-wife, Lord?” 

Siegfried sighed, suddenly impatient. “I could take her if I wanted to, Thorsson.” He smiled, wickedly. “But I won’t. Send your prettiest serving girls…and anyone else you think will serve. Our camp is just South of the village. We will make it worth their while.” He laughed heartily with his men, clapping his hand down on the table jovially. 

Eluf said nothing. 

Still, the women came. Round-eyed, plain-faced, swaddled in drab dun wool. But they would do. Siegfried plied them with ale he had traded for in the village, and gave them fresh roasted meat from the hares his men had trapped earlier in the day. When their faces started to ease and their bodies loosen from the warmth and the wine, Siegfried pulled the prettiest one onto his lap and took a shiny silver arm ring from his pouch. She looked wary, but her eyes flashed hungrily. Siegfried smiled. 

“I think my brother needs a good hump. What do you think, Thorulf?” Thorulf chuckled and the other men laughed in agreement. Erik was sitting up in his small cart bed, his bandaged hand cradled in his lap, his face heavy with shadow beyond the edge of the firelight. He had said nothing since the women came, and Siegfried could not read him now. 

“If you can get my brother to smile,” he said to the girl, “you’ll win yourself a reward.” He slipped the ring back into his pouch and pushed the woman lightly towards Erik’s cart. 

Erik turned away, but the woman clambered awkwardly up beside him, trying to sit in his lap. “I do not want her, Siegfried.” Erik spoke with a quiet, low voice. 

Siegfried laughed. “She can make you want her, Erik. Can’t you, lass? There is silver at stake.” 

Erik spoke to the girl now, stalling her as she tried to slide her hands over his body. “Stop, please. I do not want this. It is not your fault. I have a woman already.” 

Siegfried brayed, mockingly. “Oh, you have a woman?! Who, King Alfred’s daughter?” And he roared in laughter with the men at the jest. The girl looked sharply from Erik to Siegfried, confused and unsure of herself. 

Erik’s face was still in shadow. Siegfried’s mood suddenly soured. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “I will take her.” He walked over to the cart and grabbed the woman roughly, squeezing her until she squealed. He saw Erik’s face then, a mask of shame and disgust. 

“What?” Siegfried asked harshly. “You’re too good for fucking now, are you? Get over yourself.” He turned away and led the woman into his tent. But Erik’s face did not fade from his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY (if you didn't want to read):   
> Perspective switch to Siegfried, as he releases Erik from Olaf’s prison. It turns out Sig’s story was a little wrong, Siegfried didn’t ransom Erik from Olaf but actually paid Olaf to capture and hold Erik in the first place. However, he’s disappointed to find out that Erik has been tortured in Olaf’s prison and his left hand has been mutilated. They have to take off half the hand to save Erik from infection. Their relationship is very taut and they are both angry at each other, Siegfried is not sure what he plans to do with Erik. We don’t get much of Erik’s experience because it’s all told from Siegfried’s perspective. Siegfried pays off Eluf Thorsson (the grumpy lord of Medeshamstede that Erik got off on the wrong foot with). It turns out Thorsson did betray Erik to Siegfried. That night, Siegfried has women brought to the camp and tries to force one on Erik. Erik refuses and the men mock him. Siegfried lays with the woman instead. 
> 
> OTHER NOTES:   
> Etymology note: I thought long and hard about whether to include the word “fucking” in this chapter - i.e. having sex. I don’t think I’ve used it yet at all in this story (maybe I’m wrong) because I assumed it wasn’t an accurate curse word - not that any of the words I’m using are really *accurate* (i mean if we’re *really* being accurate, no one should be speaking in the future tense - well, maybe the Norse can, we don’t really know - but that’s a story for another time). BUT ANYWAY, idk, I get hung up on these things (as if you couldn’t tell). 
> 
> HOWEVER, I think it actually kinda works, because one etymology of “fucking” actually traces it in Middle English from a Scottish usage, which suggests a Scandinavian origin (because Norse settlers deeply impacted the Old English dialect of Northumbria which later became the Scots language). There are related words in Norwegian and Swedish. Soooo…basically, it’s possible that the Vikings used a word that sounded kinda like “fucking” to describe, well…fucking. So I’m going with it.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: so. much. angst. Sorry in advance. (Erik is a bit depressed, poor guy). Also, continued crapiness from Siegfried.

Beamfleot was much the same as Erik remembered. The churning mass of warriors, horses, and camp women pitched outside the walls offered the same stench and din. Warships still clustered in the estuary harbor, although their numbers were somewhat lessened, and a burnt husk of ship still bobbed in marsh grass edging the small port - evidence of Uhtred’s raid. The Western ramparts still held traces of scorch, although some of had been replaced, and the Western camp had been mostly abandoned.

Siegfried seemed to have learned from both of Uhtred’s attacks. Watchful warriors fringed out around the fortress all the way to the woods and beyond, and scouts came back hourly with reports on the movements of the surrounding countryside. Siegfried would not be attacked again. 

So Erik passed through those walls, now strong enough to ride, yet always hemmed in by other horsemen to prevent a dash for escape. And he knew himself to be a prisoner. 

He thought of her, even though it caused him pain. Throughout his imprisonment, and his torture, throughout the long ride through Danish territory, pulled like a weak ghost in the wake of his brother’s anger, his mind would turn to her unbidden. The thoughts of Aethelflaed brought pleasure as well as the sense of aching loss. But it was worth it for the small reprieve it gave him, in the state between waking and dreaming, when he could trick himself into believing that she might have been there, just beside him. But then he would truly wake, into the cold confine of captivity, or the cruel cage of his brother’s sick cart, and he would find himself alone. 

The crippling of his hand was a small thing, he knew. Although the torture and surgery had been torment, and Siegfried had left him to recover with no tending or care, he would survive. He could still fight, with his good sword hand, and half of his left to hold a shield or an axe. It would be possible, with the right training. But there was a dead space inside of him that pushed away such hopeful imaginings. _What point_? The deadness asked. _What purpose?_ All was lost. 

In the beginning, he had replayed the capture and the escape attempt over and over again in his head, trying to figure out what he could have done differently, how he could have fought, how he could have escaped. But it all came to naught. Dagfinn was dead, and Sig likely too, and it was all his fault. _All my fault_. 

In the worst moments, he would see her face, painted with cold anger and grief, as she had realized what he truly was. Just a coward, afraid to face his brother, unable to protect her, unable to fight for her. She had been right to send him away. 

How had he ever thought that he could deserve her? How had he ever thought that he could make her happy and keep her safe? He was just another cruel man, in a cruel world, playing a cruel game that threw away the lives of others for greed and pleasure. They would never have been able to escape that. It was a fool’s dream.

But it didn’t matter, in the end. He would never see Aethelflaed again. 

“How did you do it?” Erik faced Siegfried over a supper of cold lamb and cheese. He still could not eat more than a few bites at a time. The food always set him churning and retching. He was not sure if it was his body or his mind that rebelled. 

Siegfried looked at him darkly, over his food. “How did I…do what?” He wiped the grease from his hands on the edges of his stained gray tunic. 

“How did you find me? How did you track me? How did you set up your trap?” Erik let the frustration bleed into his voice. “I still cannot work it out for myself.” 

Siegfried swallowed noisily. He seemed to be stalling for a reply. Erik wondered with surprise if he had caught his brother off guard. “Does it matter?” Siegfried answered, finally.

“If it does not matter, then why not tell me the truth? I cannot outmaneuver you now.” Erik opened his arms, as if to gesture to his surroundings, and his helplessness. 

Siegfried stared at him for a long moment, then spoke. “Eluf Thorsson…brought me word, that you had courted his help in…what was it…?” He thought for a moment, then quoted dramatically. “Rising Mercia against me!” He chuckled lowly. 

“You are mocking me.” 

“Yes.” Siegfried grinned. 

Erik was not surprised at Eluf’s betrayal. “So that was your business in Medeshamstede.” 

Siegfried leaned back on his stool, surveying Erik. “You know…I thought you were clever, brother. But it seems you were quite a fool with Eluf.” He chuckled again. 

Erik looked away bitterly, and retorted. “But that does not answer my question. Eluf told you that I was alive and in Mercia, but that does not explain how you knew my movements. How did you know where to find me?” 

Siegfried decided to play dumb. “It was Olaf who found you. I merely ransomed you, brother.”

“I am not that stupid, Siegfried. I know you paid Olaf to capture and hold me. I do not understand why, and I still do not understand _how_.” 

Siegfried abandoned the ruse with a sly smirk and a shrug. “I wanted Olaf for an ally. It was a good business arrangement.” 

Erik was losing patience. He slammed his good fist down on the table dramatically, shaking Siegfried’s platter. “Tell me how you knew.” His voice was steely cold. 

Siegfried only laughed, a deep rolling noise like boulders crashing downhill. “You do not scare me, Erik. You lost your head and threw your life away, all for a _fucking woman_. How could I ever take you seriously again?” 

Erik mined inside of himself for the feeling of love and camaraderie that he had once felt with Siegfried. He tried to find of scrap of it, the dull burn of almost dead embers, still able to be rekindled. He tried, but he could find nothing but cold fury. He had thought, when Siegfried had first taken him from Olaf’s prison, that perhaps…there was a chance for reconciliation. Perhaps they could have brothers again. He wanted to believe in Siegfried’s goodness, but he could not find that belief in himself anymore. The hard truth of it ached inside of him like a raw wound. 

Despite his words, Siegfried seemed cowed by the brittle look in Erik’s face. “Fine.” He sighed. “I will tell you, and you will be displeased with me, and I will enjoy it.” He sipped from his ale horn dramatically, drawing out the truth-telling as long as possible. Erik glared at him. 

“It was Aethelred, Lord of Mercia.” He said simply, finally, pitching his voice into the mocking tone he used so much. 

“Aethelred?” Erik’s throat was dry. He had not expected that. 

“Yes! Aethelred. We have made a deal!” Siegfried explained. “He will not fight against my army, when I attack Wessex, and in return, I shall make him my puppet king of Mercia. It turns out, Aethelred wants to be _King_ of Mercia _._ ” Siegfried chuckled to himself. “I couldn’t care less. As long as he pays for it.” 

Erik’s voice was reedy. The breath was thin in his chest, and his head felt suddenly light. “You told Aethelred —” 

“That you were humping his wife? Yes! And in return, he told me where the woman lives, and all his spies knew about her trusted men and guards, and where I might be able to find a man who was traveling to visit her…illicitly, shall we say? He said I could take her too, as long as I killed her. But I didn’t want the Saxon bitch…” he trailed off momentarily, then regained the thread of his thought. “I knew you were spending time in Bedaford. It was not hard to put the pieces together from there.” 

Erik could not speak. His mind was reeling with shock and fear, fear for Aethelflaed, fear at the knowledge that Aethelred knew her betrayal and would punish for it. But it was his helplessness that swallowed his speech, choking him back from word or deed. He could do nothing to help her now. 

“I thought you would be proud of me, brother!” Siegfried continued, over his silence. “It was cleverly done, don’t you think? The man, Thorstein? Was that his name? He is _my_ man. He will have Bedaford for himself, when my army sweeps the Saxons from this land.” 

Erik found his voice. His words were harsh and ragged. “ _Why are you doing this_ , Siegfried? What do you want? You have had your ransom! You have your army! And yet you continue to try to destroy me, to destroy—” He could not say her name, not to Siegfried’s mocking face, which turned now to anger. 

“I want to be King of Wessex!” Siegfried leaned forward, so that his face was very close to Erik’s. “I will do whatever it takes, and destroy whoever I must, to make it so.” 

It was Erik’s turn to laugh, and the sound of it unnerved his brother. “You will never be King of Wessex, Siegfried. It is a joke to think otherwise.” 

Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been in bed with King Alfred, as well as his daughter? Have you let him use you as she has used you?” 

It was a wicked slight, and Siegfried knew it. Erik tried not to let it rouse him. 

Erik shook his head. “You just want to punish me, Siegfried. I see that now. But there is little more you can do me that I have not already endured. There is little more you can take from me that I have not already lost.” 

Siegfried smiled, menacingly. “Oh…I don’t know about that. I could find your woman, and bring her here, and make you watch as every one of my men has his way with her.” He watched Erik’s face closely as he spoke, trying to find some spark of despair. “I could do that, if I wanted to.” 

Erik faced him in return. “You forget that I have known you longer than anyone else in this world. I know that your cruelty does not run that deep.” 

Siegfried did not smile as he spoke, not even in menacing jest. “Well then perhaps you do not truly know me after all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, really. I wanted to like Siegfried. I mean, I *do* like Siegfried, but I wanted him to have a redemption arc. I thought that might have been where this was going. But it’s not. He’s just…a shit. I love all y’all other writers imagining Aethelrik stories where Siegfried isn’t a massive shit, and maybe I’ll write one of those one day. But this is not one of those.


	35. Chapter 35

Birger had done well with Oxenford. Most of the fyrd had traveled home to tend their fields, but the town was still garrisoned by a large band of landless men and warriors who worked to clean, prepare, and defend the camp for the fyrd’s return. Aethelflaed’s band traveled a circuitous route, setting out West from Bedaford to cut a wide swath between themselves and Aegelsburgh on their approach. Aethelflaed did not know if Aethelred’s men were still stationed in density at the fortress, and didn’t want to risk finding out. 

As they entered the town, Aethelflaed could smell the difference since her last visit. It had been little over a week since she had left Birger in command of the town, but the change was palpable. The privy pits had been cleaned and re-dug, and the mud and shit-smeared paths lined with sand and straw. In lieu of densely packed tents and carts, sheep grazed in the fresh grown grass of the meadows surrounding the town, and men worked to construct more permanent stables and smithies to see the fyrd outfitted. 

“I am impressed, Birger,” Aethelflaed admitted, when the man welcomed them into the wide stone house that Aethelred’s generals had once used. “But I am not surprised.” She smiled and Birger glowed with her praise. But there was a wariness in his eyes, an unspoken question on his tongue. Aethelflaed could not keep him in suspense, despite her reluctance to speak the truth to him. 

“Erik has been captured,” she said to him lowly, watching his face fall. “He is a prisoner of his brother Siegfried now. I do not know what fate he suffers.” 

Birger nodded grimly as she stepped back from him and greeted the other men who helped Birger to manage the camp. She was not sure if it was grief or condemnation that she saw in his eyes. Maybe it was both. 

Aethelflaed’s world has been in disarray for days…for weeks, since her and Erik had parted in anger and grief. Or had the trouble started months ago, when she was captured and taken to Beamfleot? Or before then, when she was wed to Aethelred? She could not say - the trials of her life seemed to stretch beyond her counting. Perhaps it had been years since she had truly been at rest. She had spilled little grief in the wake of Sig’s news. She thought that she had maybe spent it all before - in the days of fear-soaked unknowing, and even more had left her before then, when she had wallowed weeks in mourning for her broken love. She had little to spare now.

The move to Oxenford was a purely practical decision. She needed to regroup where her position was strongest, and although she trusted Cuthbert’s allyship, she could not stay in Daneland forever. She needed to consolidate her power in Mercia. And she needed to find a way to help Erik. She feared that she could not do one without risking the other. And she had little hope of a plan either way. 

She had been pleased and surprised to find Lord Edgar and Lady Aelfwynn at residence in Oxenford - the Mercians from Aebingdune who had first notified her of the camp’s sorry state. She felt them to be trusted allies, even if Aelfwynn’s brother Edmund placed his loyalty firmly in her father’s lap. They had come in the wake of the news that Aetheflaed had taken control of the camp, to lend their service and their strength to her claim, and she was grateful for them. 

Her rest was brief and fleeting, her meal short and much needed, her heart heavy and oddly loud in her chest, as if drumming a rhythm to all her movements and words. She spoke to Audr after dinner, with a shaky determination that she hoped did not texture her voice too greatly. 

“I wish to call a meeting, Audr.” The girl nodded, slightly disconcerted. “Of all my advisors - Birger, and his most trusted men here. The Saxons Edgewulf and Leofwin, from my guard. Lord Edgar and his wife Aelfwynn must be there as well.” She took a breath. “And you will sit in my council as well.” 

Audr’s brow crinkled, her face confused. “Lady? I…what do you mean?” 

“You are one of my advisors, Audr. You will join the meeting. Think of it as an informal Witan.” Aethelflaed smiled. “It will be much more official once we have defeated Aethelred.”

Audr’s face was red, and she began to stammer nervously. “L-lady, I cannot be one of your advisors. I am a kitchen girl…escaped from a Danish fortress! It is not my place to advise you…officially.” The last word was tacked on quickly, and Aethelflaed had to laugh at Audr’s sly cheekiness. 

“You are already my advisor, Audr, as I think you well know. And I trust you more than anyone here.” She sighed and took the girl’s hand. “You are not my servant, and perhaps you do not see me as a friend. But I would have on my council. It is the least that you deserve.” 

Audr was embarrassed, but also shyly pleased, Aethelflaed could tell. She nodded without looking into Aethelflaed’s eyes, and Aethelflaed supposed that was good enough for now. 

“I will tell the others,” Audr said. “We will gather…?” 

“In my personal quarters,” Aethelflaed confirmed. She had been outfitted with a small but spacious hall on the West side of the stone villa. It would be comfortable enough, and private. “When the sun touches the horizon.” 

Audr nodded. “It will be done, Lady.” 

“So Aethelred acts openly against you? He has used violence against you? Tried to…kill you?!” It was Edgar who spoke, his voice incredulous. He had been shocked at the news of Aethelred’s open treachery, but his wife Aelfwynn only stared at Aethelflaed grimly, as if her worst fears were confirmed. 

“It is true, Lord Edgar,” she confirmed. “I believe your kinsman takes news of the attack to my father, as we speak.” 

“Do you think the King will rise against Aethelred, to defend Mercia and defend you?” It was Aelfwynn who spoke. Aethelflaed was grateful for another lady’s voice on the council, although she knew of many who would turn their nose up at such a grouping. 

“I cannot say for certain,” Aethelflaed answered, regretfully. “I wish I could know that he would back my claim, but… he has some blind spot when it comes to Aethelred. He will see Siegfried’s army as a greater threat, and hope to patch with the rift with Aethelred without war. He hates to see the English kingdoms at each other’s throats.” 

“Mercia is at her own throat,” Egdar grumbled, “as is so often the case.” 

“But, begging your pardon—” It was Edgewulf, the Saxon guard, who spoke now, tentatively. “Will the Mercians truly see Lady Aethelflaed as one of their own? Or…will they see her as just another puppet from Wessex? I mean no offense, Lady.”

“I take no offense.” Aethelflaed spoke with some impatience, but not without kindness. “I invited you here to speak, Edgewulf, and I hope to hear your opinion. I can make no right decision nor draft no worthy plan alone.” 

“Yes, Lady.” 

Birger interjected. “You were here, Edgewulf, when Aethelflaed took control of the fyrd. I think they saw her as one of their own then, do you not?” 

“And Lady Aethelflaed is Mercian by blood as well as marriage,” Aelfwynn added. 

“It is true,” Aethelflaed confirmed. “My mother, Lady Ealhswith is a daughter of the Gaini. She traces her lineage to King Coenwulf of Mercia.” 

“Then you have a claim by blood,” Edgewulf pointed out. “It is distant, I admit…” 

“And traced through her mother,” Edgar added, doubtfully. 

Aelfwynn spoke up again. “But claims of blood right will matter little to the fighting men of the fyrd. They will back the leader they trust. And it seems the men of Oxenfordshire trust Aethelflaed, no?”

Edgewulf looked thoughtful. “I suppose we cannot truly know…until the fyrd returns. _IF_ they return when they were bound too.” 

“It will be three weeks until then…” Aethelflaed said, doubtfully. 

“They will return.” It was the first time Audr had spoken, but she spoke with easy confidence, not letting her nervousness show. “I am certain of it, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed nodded in gratitude to Audr. 

“But we must plan for the possibility that they do not,” Aethelflaed admitted. “Or that Siegfried marches before the fyrd regroups.” 

“We will need the support of the Mercian nobles, not simply the fyrd!” Edgar protested. “And blood claims will matter greatly to them. I am still not sure that the Witan will recognize Aetheflaed’s right to claim the title in her own name.” 

Birger had remained mostly quiet, but he spoke with slow urgency now. “Lady Aethelflaed cannot waste her time courting aeldormen when the people of Mercia are bound to lose everything. We must move to protect the _people_ , and outflank Siegfried’s strategy. The support of the Mercians will follow if Aethelflaed is successful.” 

“And how do you suggest she outflank Siegfried, with her fyrd disbanded?” 

The tension had risen palpably, with Edgar facing off against Birger. Birger turned and spoke to Aethelflaed. 

“You should go to Beamfleot, Lady. You should negotiate with Siegfried.”

Aethelflaed looked sharply at Birger, and took a shaky breath. 

“Why would Lady Aethelflaed go to Beamfleot?” It was Edgewulf who spoke. “Why would she take such a risk?” Edgar seemed to be holding his tongue. 

Aethelflaed looked at Birger, then at Audr, her face steely, her gut simultaneously cold with dread and roiling with anticipation. Audr simply nodded at her, her face serene and trusting. Aethelflaed made the jump. 

“There is something I must tell you all. Something…that I have kept hidden from all but a few of you. It is…a dangerous secret, and a powerful secret. But I think it is time to reveal it.” 

Each face was pointed on her like a sharpened blade, but she spoke to Aeflwynn. She was not sure why. It was easiest to speak while looking into the woman’s wide, gentle face. 

“Birger thinks I should go to Beamfleot…to negotiate for the life of a valuable hostage.”

“What hostage?” Edgar asked. 

Aethelflaed inhaled and braced herself. “The Lord Erik Thurgilson.” 

There was an awkward silence that likely lasted shorter than it felt. Aelfwynn’s eyes were narrowed in slight confusion. Edgar’s brow crinkled. 

“Erik…Thurgilson?” He asked, incredulously. “Siegfried’s brother? Was he not…your captor?” Edgar chuckled, as if realizing there must have been some silly mistake. “Was there not a ransom paid for your release?” 

Aethelflaed still spoke to Aelfwynn. “If my plan had succeeded, the ransom would never have been paid.” 

“What plan?” Edgewulf asked. But Aelfwynn seemed to see right into Aethelflaed, and her face crooked with dawning realization. 

“He is your lover.” It was not a question. Aethelflaed let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It was done. 

“Yes.” She said, and the room seemed to tremble a bit with the truth of it. “Yes, we are bound.” 

Edgar’s face was still carved with confusion. “Lovers…? With Erik Thurgilson? A Heathen….a Viking?!” 

“Yes, Lord Edgar.” Aethelflaed was pleased to hear that she spoke without shame. She would not lose control of the situation. Not now. “We planned to escape Beamfleot - and escape Siegfried - together. We would have spared Wessex and Mercia the ransom. But I was recaptured…and Erik nearly killed.” 

The story settled like falling dust around the table. Aethelflaed continued. “Since my release, we have conspired…in secret.” She took another breath. “To take Mercia together. All of it. Saxon and Northmen - united by…us. By Erik and I, in union.” The silence still stretched. “But now Erik is a prisoner of Siegfried.” 

Edgar seemed unable to keep up. “But Lady, you are already married…to a _Saxon._ To a Christian!” 

“Aethelred will have to be killed,” she said simply. Edgar’s mouth closed abruptly. “With honor, preferably. In battle - or single combat - would be best. If I am to rule Mercia with Erik, it must not be said that he is a snake, and I a poisoner.” 

“The Mercian aeldormen will never allow—”

“They will have to.” To Aethelflaed’s surprise, it was Aelfwynn who spoke over her husband. “We will have to convince them.” 

Edgar looked at his wife as if she had grown two heads, but his eyes softened a bit as he looked into her bright, determined face. 

“This is what I am asking of you. There is nothing more to reveal. Each of you knows the full truth. And if you wish to turn away from me, I will not force you down this path.” 

“I am with you, Lady - always, as you know.” Birger spoke, and Aethelflaed smiled warmly at his loyalty. “But we still must find a way to free Lord Erik from Siegfried.” 

Aethelflaed sighed. “I think you are right, Birger. I must go to Beamfleot. I must treat with Siegfried, if only to stall him. He cannot march his army if he is busy negotiating with my war band.”

“But—” It seemed Edgar could not restrain himself from blustering. “to negotiate with Siegfried! — at what cost?! Mercia cannot pay another ransom, not for a Heathen Dane!” 

“Erik is Norse.” Aethelflaed spoke harshly, for the first time. “And I do not expect Mercia to pay for his release.”

“So another escape attempt, Lady?” Audr asked wryly. “We barely survived the first one.” 

Aethelflaed smiled at Audr’s jest, her testiness easing. “I do not know yet, Audr. But I have learned that the best plans emerge when they are most needed.”

“Lady, to travel to Beamfleot will take you through a great part of Mercia,” Edgewulf cautioned. “Will you be able to travel in secret? For such a long distance?” 

Aethelflaed felt a smile bloom on her face, as a seedling plan wove its way through her mind. “No. No, quite the opposite. I will travel through Mercia. And I will be _seen_.” 


	36. Chapter 36

Golde remembered the day for rest of her life. It was spring, in the first-grass moon, and the lambs were just starting to wean from the teats of their dams. It was Golde’s job to watch the young sheep, in the high pasture behind the village, where you could see the long gray river winding lazily through the valley, and the village on the other side, where Golde had been five times in her life. There was a dog there, who had bit her once, and sometimes she tried to see him across the wide valley, to make sure he wasn’t biting anyone else. Her eyes were strong, but not that strong. 

Mostly she played with her favorite lamb. She called him Snawe-Scur, for the fine white puffiness of his fleece, which looked like clouds coming in to leave a dusting of rare snow. She fed him dandelion flowers from her palm, and laughed when he sneezed at the fine gold pollen. And sometimes, she would see the dust kicked up by horsemen, on the old Roman road across the river. She would watch them until they disappeared from sight, and tell stories to Snawe-Scur, of who they were and where they were going. She always hoped they would stop at the village, even though she knew visitors scared her mother and made her father reach for the rain weathered ax that hung behind the door. But they almost never did stop. Maybe it was better that way. 

That day was different, though. The cloud of dust that Golde saw, as the sun stretched up towards its height, was as large as a house, or a church, or maybe greater. She was not really sure. She had never seen a true church, only the small wooden chapel of their village. But when her father spoke of stone churches, she thought they must be very big. The cloud of dust was that big. That was remarkable enough - what a story she could tell to Snawe-Scur of those travelers and where they were going. They must have been very important. 

But to Golde’s shock, the party did not vanish beyond the horizon, but _turned,_ onto the wide timber bridge that forded the river - the one her father said would wash away next season because that fool Aldhelm had built it so shoddily -and…yes, they were coming towards _her_ village. She was struck for a moment, unsure what to do, Snawe-Scur bleating and nuzzling against her hand for a treat. Then she ran. 

She was fast and strong on her feet, and reached her house before the horsemen had crossed the bridge. Her mother was crouched over the low coals of a cook fire, her baby brother cradled against her bosom. 

“Mother!” She cried breathlessly. “Horsemen! They are coming over the bridge!” 

Her mother’s face turned as white as Snawe-Scur’s fleece and she clutched Foxtaegele defensively. “How many men, Golde?” 

“I do not know - many! More than just traders or priests.” 

Her mother became steely with determination and she pointed Golde toward the sheep pen. “Go. Now. I will get your father.” 

“Mother! I want to see who they are! They might not be—”

But Golde’s mother was pushing her insistently towards the sheep pen, where she had dug out a hidey-hole, covered by branches and old hay. She had made Golde hide in it more times than she could count, and Golde hated it. It smelled of sheep piss and rotten milk. But whenever she complained of it, her father told her stories of awful men, who would steal little girls like her and drink the blood of precious lambs like Snawe-Scur, and also murder everyone they knew. 

Golde thought of the awful men as her mother brushed aside the coverings and handed Foxtaegele to her to hold in the safe place. She thought of how sad she would be if someone drank Snawe-Scur’s blood and murdered everyone she knew. But she still wanted to see who was coming. She craned her head over her mother’s frantic shoulder, trying to catch one last glance. 

“Mother!” She cried again, and her mother jumped and clutched her heart. “Mother - they are flying the Mercian standard! Blue and gold!” 

Her mother turned, suddenly confused, and Golde saw her father coming in from the field, drawn by the riders. His vision was dim, Golde knew, and she repeated the message for him, in case he couldn’t see it himself. 

“The Mercian standard… —?” 

“It does not mean they are not dangerous.” 

“I know, but…why—?”

“There is a lady!” Golde interjected. “A lady is riding at the front, can’t you see her?!” It was true. A lady led the column, and as she approached the small square that acted as their village center, Golde could not resist any longer. She ran. 

“Golde!” Her father tried to grab her, but it was too late. Her parents could only follow in her wake, joining the group of villagers who gathered with defensive curiosity to meet the visitor and her party. 

It was, in truth, the most magnificent thing that Golde had ever seen. _She_ was the most magnificent thing that Golde had ever seen. She sat astride a lithe chestnut mare, whose coat gleamed in the near-noon sun. She wore a fine blue riding gown, with long trailed sleeves, and over it a glittering coat of chain mail which fit her form. Her dark hair was braided and looped below her ears, her head covered by a fine cream veil that fluttered in the breeze. It was fixed with a circlet of silver, twisted and shaped to look like fine-twined strands of thread. Her eyes flashed in the sun as she looked around at the group. Golde thought the lady might look at her, _prayed_ she might look at her, but her eyes passed over Golde. She tried not to be too disappointed. 

There were men with her as well, many men, and other women too, Golde thought. In truth, she could not remember when she looked back on the day, how many there were and what they were doing. She could only remember Aethelflaed. 

For that was her name - she was _Lady_ Aetheflaed, Lady of Mercia, _King Alfred’s daughter_. She told them all, as Golde’s father finally caught up to her, bracing her against his body as if Aethelflaed were a dragon about to take flight and scoop her up. But soon he was caught in her spell as well. 

“Good people of Wodetun!” That was their village. She knew their village! Had she come here special, for some unknown purpose? Golde ached to know. “I am glad to see you well. I do not come to place a burden on your fine folk, nor to beg a tax of you, I promise. I am grateful for all that the people of Mercia have done for me, and hope to repay each of you in turn some day.” 

What had _they_ done for the Lady? Golde was confused, and turned to ask her father, but he shushed her gently, listening to Aethelflaed’s speech. 

“In truth, I travel to Beamfleot, to treat with the Lord Siegfried.” There was murmuring amongst the villagers. Golde did not know the Lord Siegfried, and she did not know Beamfleot, whoever or whatever that was, but it did sound exciting. “I travel to tell Siegfried that Mercia will _never_ be his. I travel to raise the countryside, so that each of you knows that I stand with you - that we stand together!” 

“Where is her husband?” Golde’s father was murmuring to her mother. “Where is Lord Aethelred?” But it was Golde’s turn to shush him, because she did not care one whit about Aethelflaed’s husband, and the crowd’s murmuring and cheering had died down again. 

“I said I would beg no tax of you, and I meant it. But if there are any among you who would join me, I would welcome you to my band. I seek blooded warriors, accomplished with bow or ax or spear. Warriors who speak English or Danish - yes,” she interrupted herself, cutting off the whispering that had arisen, “Our army will need Angle-kin _and_ Danes to defeat Siegfried’s men!” The murmuring eased at the fierceness of her look. “I seek men of worth and honor, men I can trust with my life, and the future of Mercia.” 

There came the sound of shuffling and shifting. The villagers looked among themselves as if to find such a person in their midst. Golde felt a strange burning feeling in her chest. She could not say yet what it was. 

“I will press no one to join me, but in return for noble service, I can offer a place by my side, and a place at my court. I will pay a handsome weregild for any warrior killed or wounded in my service, or assurance of the guilty party’s payment. But most of all, I can offer the glory and honor of a warrior of Mercia!” 

The burning feeling rose to Golde’s throat, and she turned in desperation to her parents. “Can I go? Please, can I go with the Lady?!” 

Her mother laughed gently, and her father looked away, as if trying to hide his expression. “She does not want you, Golde. She wants _men_ , young men. Warriors.” 

“But there are women with her too!” Golde pleaded. 

“Even if you could go with her, you are too young. You are not a warrior.” 

Golde swallowed the feeling of despair, trying to think on her feet. 

“Then father should go! And he can tell us all about it, what she’s like, what adventures they have!” 

Her father’s eyes were gentle, and sad. “I am too old, Golde. I am a farmer, not a warrior. I am needed here on the farm with you.” 

Golde thought she might cry but she swallowed her tears, brushing her eyes with the back of her hand. She would not allow the Lady to see her cry. 

It turned out that there were no young men of the kind that Aethelflaed needed in their village. They were all too young, or too old - with farms and families to take care of, like Golde’s father. And none of them were warriors. But Aethelflaed still rode through the village, offering pennies and small oat cakes to the children, and giving a blessing to the village chapel with the assistance of the priest. It was there that she finally saw Golde, skulking in the corner with her parents, watching her with needful eyes. 

She offered Golde an oat cake, and Golde could not speak as she took it, looking up at the glowing, golden woman who she could not go with. 

“I am sorry, Lady Aethelflaed,” her mother was speaking, nervously. Her voice sounded odd, as if she was trying to make her speech sound different to impress the Lady. “Our son is just a babe.” 

Aethelflaed smiled generously. “But you are blessed with a fine daughter. That is no small gift.” Golde swallowed dryly and looked desperately from her father to the Lady, unsure if she should speak. Then Aethelflaed addressed her directly. “Perhaps one day you can come to my court and study at the school I will start, like my father has done in Wessex. Every Mercian child of sharp mind will have a place to learn to read and write there. Perhaps we will be friends one day…you and I.” 

Golde was struck, as if a star had fallen out of the sky and landed directly at her feet. 

“I-I..” She stammered. 

Her mother laughed. “I think Golde would like that.”

“Golde.” The Lady said. “That is a beautiful name.” 

And soon, she was gone. 

Golde never saw Aethelflaed again. By the time she finally started her school, Golde was set to be married, and would soon have children of her own. Perhaps there never would have been a place for her there anyway. But it didn’t really matter, in the end. Until the day she died, Golde remembered Aethelflaed. And she loved her. 


	37. Chapter 37

Aethelflaed was hot. It was the time of year when the day dawned with a cool chill and then rose to scorching heat within a matter of hours. She chafed in her long woolen riding dress, even though the cloth was woven finely. The mail coat pressed around her like heavy metal hands. Her veil fluttered often to block her sight. 

They had been many days traveling to Beamfleot. Aethelflaed was beginning to feel impatient at the pace, her nerves and frustration tugged by their slowness. What if Siegfried had already begun his march? What if he executed Erik before they arrived? But no news had come through the countryside of an army on the move, and so Aethelflaed tried to take heart and stay true to her plan. 

They did not take on many warriors, in the villages and rambles of Southeastern Mercia. In truth, she had not expected to. Truly skilled warriors did not generally spend their time idle in half-forgotten farming settlements. But that was not really the point. The true benefit came in each farmer and family she saw, in each homestead and church she blessed, in each child she spoke to with oat cakes in hand. It meant something to them, she knew, to be asked. It meant something that a noble lady - the daughter of a king - would come to them for help, assuming they had something to offer. It meant something that she had bothered to come to their half-forgotten villages, to look them in the eyes and tell them of her plans. 

She could not go to every village, of course. It would take her half the summer, and cost more silver than she had to her name, to level such a campaign. But she hoped it would make a difference in the end - when she took power from Aethelred. She hoped the Mercians would trust her to lead them, that they might hold some pride in themselves in her name. 

And she had found her own pride, in the Mercian people, in their strength and skill and kindness. For every old farmer with wary distrust in his eyes, there was another villager eager to help her. In one village, a bold, brown-eyed teenage girl had begged for the chance to prove herself with a bow. She was a better shot than all the boys in her town, she explained. And so Aethelflaed had let her test her claim, on the village green, and had seen her shoot further and finer than any of the others with her self-made hickory bow. Aethelflaed had invited the girl Clufweart to join her guard, to the shocked murmurs of some of the townsfolk. But her father refused, saying that his daughter was set to be married. Aethelflaed saw the bitterness in Clufweart’s eyes, but there was nothing she could do for the girl without causing a conflict. She rode away with regret. 

In another town, she had taken on a young spearman named Aldun. He was a Dane by birth, but had been raised by Saxon parents, and spoke both the English and Danish tongues with skill. He wore a cross around his neck, but cut his fair hair in the style of the Viking warriors, with the sides short and the front hanging low over his forehead. He reminded Aethelflaed painfully of Erik, and knew the boy would take to him, if they ever recovered him. So they plodded on, to Beamfleot. 

Aelfwynn and Edgar did not ride in their party, to Aethelflaed’s regret. Despite his tension and challenging during their council, Edgar had come around. To Aethelflaed’s surprise, he had pledged himself to her the day after their meeting, kneeling and taking a formal oath to seal his bond to her cause. Aethelflaed suspected that Aelfwynn was to thank for his change of heart, and she had said as much to the woman before they had parted ways. 

“It seems that I owe you a great debt, Aelfwynn,” she said, as they walked through the rising rampart’s of Birger’s new construction. “The proud Lord of Aebingdune seems to have had his doubts eased.” 

Aelfwynn gave a small smile. “Edgar can be resistant to new ideas at first,” she admitted. “He fears rapid change. But he always come around in the end.” 

“The Lady of Mercia overthrowing her husband and taking power with her Norse lover is… _quite_ a new idea to wrap one’s head around, I admit.” She felt her ease falter a bit, as she spoke it all out into the air. “Are you sure he will not lose heart?” 

Aelfwynn nodded gravely. “He is a loyal man, Lady Aethelflaed. He will challenge you, if he feels it is necessary. But he is a romantic at heart. He will never break a sworn oath.” 

Aethelflaed sighed in relief. “It is good that he is not afraid to challenge me. I need men like him - bold, loyal, and truthful in their council. And I will need women like you, to guide the men when their pride gets in the way.” 

Aelfwynn laughed genuinely. “It is always the way with men, is it not?” 

“Indeed.” And Aethelflaed ached, thinking of Erik, not knowing how deep the distance stretched between them. 

Aelfwynn saw the pain in Aethelflaed’s eyes. “You fear for him.” 

“Yes,” Aethelflaed admitted. “I do. And I am filled with regret. We…fought, before he was captured, and have yet to make amends. I fear this is all my fault.” 

Aelfwynn’s eyes were filled with curiosity. “You truly love him,” she said, with a small note of wonder in her voice. “A Viking warlord.” 

“Yes.” Aethelflaed did not hesitate. She marveled a bit at her own surety. She seemed to have rediscovered it, somewhere, in the midst of all this unknowing. “I do love him. I know it must seem strange…I know it must make little sense to you. He was my captor. But…he is kind, Aelfwynn. And gentle. And he treats me as an equal, in intelligence and worth. It matters to him, what I think and what I feel. And I…” 

“I _do_ understand, Lady.” Aelfwynn said, earnestly. “It is…unconventional. But love is often so. You are lucky to find it.” Aethelflaed smiled at Aelfwynn’s assurance. “We will be ready for you,” the lady continued. “When you return to Mercia with him.” 

So Aelfwynn and Edgar had been left in Oxenford, to oversee the camp and to treat with Edgar’s kin among the Mercian lords to join their cause. A message was sent to Aethelwulf, Aethelflaed’s Mercian uncle through her mother, to give news of Aethelred’s treason, and scouts were sent to keep watch on Aethelred’s position and movements. But Birger came with Aethelflaed, along with the core of her Saxon and Danish guards, as well as a small wing of warriors that Birger had befriended and trained with among the Oxenford fyrd. And as always, Audr accompanied their band. She would need her closest and most trusted friends beside her when she met with Siegfried. She would need their strength to get her through. 

They did not stop at Lundenburg. The fortified town was large, and home to many tribes. Its people still reeled in the rubble and destruction wrought by the battle the previous summer. _The battle that Erik and Siegfried had fought against Uhtred_. _The battle that had ended in the Mercians slaughtering the Danish townsfolk_. The thought of it filled her stomach with a cold, empty ache, but she pushed it away. In the end, they were all at fault - her father, her husband, Erik, Uhtred, even herself. And now, Aethelflaed was asking more of the Mercian people to fight for her - to die for her, if necessary. If wasn’t fair, but it was the way of things. 

She remembered how she had challenged Erik when he had said the same thing. Now Erik was tired of conquest, imprisoned and tormented, and it was Aethelflaed who raised the countryside for war. Erik would say that the Gods were fickle like that. Aethelflaed did not know what to believe.

They set up camp north of Lundenwic - the Saxon town that lay a mile West of the fortified burgh. It would be their last main stop before crossing into East Anglia, and into the danger posed by Siegfried’s scouts. Aethelflaed allowed the men to set up the whole camp - raising their tents and digging privy holes. As impatient as she was to keep moving, she knew that the men needed rest, and she did not mind sleeping with a bit more comfort than she had grown accustomed to on the hard traveled roads. 

Their party had grown inexorably along their travels. It was inevitable. Although she had taken on few warriors, their group attracted stragglers, tinkers and traders, and camp women who followed them slowly, lagging behind them as they rode from town to town, yet always converging on the camp if they settled in anywhere for more than a day. Now the camp looked like a small, ragged village, dotted with camp fires and ringed with smoke, the sound of men’s laughter and women’s voices echoing from tents and dark hollows. 

Aethelflaed rested in her own tent - a small abode dressed in comfort but not finery - one of her hounds dozing by her side. The two bitch hounds had been a gift from the Lord Alwin - at least that had been the message when they had arrived in Oxenford just before she left. But she knew they were truly from his wife, Lady Mildred, who had become Aethelflaed’s friend and confidant when she had stopped with her husband at Aegelsburgh on their way to London. Aethelflaed was grateful for the woman’s gift, and the continued pledge of her support. 

The hounds were large, trotting with long-legged strides beside the horses as they rode through the countryside, their coarse gray-gold fur gleaming in the sun. One stayed always beside Aethelflaed whether she rode or slept, trained to her side by promises of pork fat and salt mutton. The other roamed the camp or stayed with scouts on the outer edges, ears and nose alert for any unwanted presence. Aethelflaed was quickly becoming quite fond of them. 

Now her companion hound growled, notifying her to the presence of a visitor outside her tent. The young half Dane Aldun had become one of her personal guardsman, as Birger took on more duties overseeing the camp. He stuck his blond head in now, looking uncertain. 

“There is someone here to see you, Lady,” he explained. “An official from the town of Lundenwic.” 

Aethelflaed sighed, feeling weary and also strangely nervous. What would the man want from her? What would he expect to find in her? She could not guess. She could only be herself. 

“Let him in, Aldun, thank you.” 

The man swept in with a self-important stride, his dove gray capelet thrown casually over one shoulder and gold brooch glinting at his throat. The rest of his clothes were quite modest in comparison, and Aethelflaed got the sense that he was trying to look finer than he truly was. 

“Lady Aethelflaed.” He announced her name as if he was he who had invited her within his walls. “It is good to see you here.” 

“And you, Lord…?” She asked casually, and cautiously. 

The man looked a little embarrassed. “Not a Lord, Lady Aethelflaed. Just Aelfric of Lundenwic. I administer the town for the aeldorman of Middelseaxon shire.” 

“You are the shire-reeve here?” Aethelflaed asked, a little surprised. 

“No, Lady,” he corrected. He gave a good performance of modesty, but there was a slight gleam in his eye. “I just administer the town…” 

So he was a lesser reeve. Aethelflaed’s mind cleared a bit as she worked her head around the details. If this had been Wessex, Aelfric’s lord would be an aeldorman of her father’s, overseeing the entire shire of Middelseaxon with the help of the King’s reeve. But this was not Wessex, and the Mercians had not yet benefitted from the kind of administrative reform that her father had instituted in Wessex. This man was not even a thegn, just a ceorl, a freemen of Lundenwic trying to climb the ladder of rank and wealth. He was an ambitious man, Aethelflaed could tell. She was not sure yet whether it was an opportunity, or a hazard. 

“Thank you for welcoming me to your town, Aelfric Reeve,” she said generously. “I will not be a burden on your people or your resources, I assure you. I am merely passing through on my way to treat in East Anglia.” 

Aelfric bowed so that his face became hidden in shadow and Aethelflaed could not read him. “You are not a burden, Lady,” he assured her, obsequiously. “It is only that the local hundred court is converging, so we have little to share with royal visitors.” 

Aethelflaed’s mind perked up. “I have no need of royal treatment,” she said, perhaps a bit harshly. “But I will attend the meeting of the hundred court tomorrow, and oversee the proceedings.” 

Aelfric’s face froze momentarily, and he hid his confusion with another bow. “It would be a honor, Lady, I am sure. And the Lord Aethelred…?” 

“My husband is not traveling with me at this time,” she responded coldly. She was growing tired of his false flattering. “But I assure you that I am perfectly capable of witnessing your court without his assistance.” 

“Yes, Lady,” Aelfric’s stammered quickly. “It would be our privilege, Lady. We will prepare a seat in your honor for tomorrow’s gathering.” He bowed again and soon swept out of the tent with much formal pandering. Aethelflaed was pleased with the turn of events, excited to witness the hundred court in action. But she could not shake the feeling that Aelfric had been mocking her. It followed her until she lost herself in sleep. 


	38. Chapter 38

The Hundred Court convened on a high grassy hill just outside the village, fringed by a coppice wood of silver birch and hazel. The new yellow-green leaves were bursting from the branches of the slender trunks, and they fluttered like moths in the light breeze. The sun was out, but it was not too hot, and gray-white clouds gathered at the edge of the sky like hungry wolves. 

The natural swoop and rise of the land made a sort of bowl, so that the sound of the speakers pooled among the sparse crowd of townsfolk and peasants, freemen and slaves, who had come to witness the court. Aelfric and a group of other powerful ceorls sat with prominence in a semi-circle on weathered old ash stumps, creating a hollow where each petitioner could be heard. Aethelflaed was surprised to see Aelfric hold such prominence in the court - she had thought he was little more than a messenger, and that a true lord would be overseeing the proceedings. Surely some man of land and wealth claimed a right to the levies and laws of Lundenwic. But maybe not…maybe all the lords and warriors kept their court in Lundenburgh now. This was the kind of chaos her leadership could mend, she told herself. If only she had the chance. 

Aethelflaed had arrived with only a small guard. She did not want to startle the townsfolk, nor to detract from the true proceedings of the day. She and her warriors had dismounted outside the main ring of the court, and she had walked without fanfare to take her seat, slightly downhill and to the side of the stump circle. It _was_ a place of honor, she had to admit. Aelfric - or someone - had fashioned a throne-like chair for her, replete with intricate carvings and fine clothed cushions. It must have been requisitioned from the fineries of a local monastery or bishopric. She hoped it hadn’t caused too much strife. In truth, it was a bit ostentatious for her taste. Even her father did not insist sitting on a fine throne like that. 

“Welcome, Lady Aethelflaed!” Aelfric announced dramatically as she approached. “We are so pleased and grateful for your generosity in gracing us with your presence today.” 

There was still something in the man’s tone that chafed at her. She wanted to cluck at him impatiently or cut off his obsequious speech. But she only nodded gracefully, and took her seat, gesturing for the proceedings to continue. 

The court had already begun, and the council of ceorls were already busy hearing petitions and judging cases. For each case, the prominent ceorls would pose questions to the petitioner, or - in the case of a dispute - to each party, discussing amongst themselves to reach a decision. At this point, in theory, dissent could be raised by a member of the audience. In truth, only free men were invited to speak dissent, but if their dissent held agreement from other members of the audience, the ceorls could be convinced to modify their decision. Aethelflaed watched all this, her eyes and body calm but her mind whirring as she tried to keep up with the subtle dynamics at play. 

After several turns of this, Aethelflaed started to realize that Aelfric always got his way. The other ceorls seemed to look to him for a decision, offering their support or amplifying his ideas throughout the council. If a motion of dissent was offered from the crowd, Aelfric would always consider it, and would often reframe his original decision so that it _sounded_ different, but was, in essence, the same. He was good at the game, and most of the witnesses seemed fooled by his ploy. But Aetheflaed found herself more and more annoyed. This was not how a true hundred court was meant to proceed. The man wasn’t even a true lord, yet he held all the power over the people of Lundenwic. 

The cases so far had been settled without violence or punishment. Land disputes were settled, missing sheep accounted for, and minor weregilds for assault and slander paid. But a few hours into the proceedings, a young boy was brought before the council by a grim, gray-faced older man. The man twisted the boy’s shirt in his hand so that he squealed and squirmed, then silenced him with a rough back hand. Aethelflaed shifted uncomfortably. 

“What is the problem here, Leofrid?” Aelfric asked in his usual tone. 

The man Leofrid glared as he spoke. “This boy’s been working on my farm since last summer.” He explained. “And sleeping, and eating, the grubby bastard. And now I find he’s been in at the corn all winter, takin’ extra shares back to own kin in the dead of night like a foul creature. It’s a wonder my own family haven’t starved yet.” 

“Is this true, boy?” Another ceorl asked harshly. The boy’s face was stricken with fear, his eyes scrunched up as if unable to look at who spoke to him without trembling. He gave a very small, very meek nod. The ceorl made a noise of disgust. 

“It was only one time!” The boy protested suddenly. “It was only once I did it, and then it was only—”

“You mean it was only once you was caught,” the man corrected, shaking the boy by his shirt cuff again. 

“Is he a free child, or a slave?” Aelfric asked. The question of his guilt seemed already decided. It was only his punishment that needed determining now. Aethelflaed felt heat in her throat. She blinked nervously. 

“He is a Dane.” Leofrid said, as if that answered the question. Some of the crowd murmured at the news. There was a disruption at the back of the audience, as someone pushed their way through towards the front. Aelfric did not seem to notice. 

“Stealing is a hanging offense, boy,” he said harshly. “Do you know that?” 

The boy started to cry, softly and quietly, his breath coming in quickly and his body slumping. Leofrid released him with disgust and he fell pathetically to the ground. Aethelflaed’s heart was thumping very fast. Aelfric made a gesture, as if to take the boy away. 

Aethelflaed did not think. She stood up quickly, her skirts ruffling and swinging around her legs dramatically. 

“What?!” It was not the most graceful interjection, she had to admit. But it was the only thing that came to her in that moment. Aelfric turned to her, a look of barely veiled condescension in his eyes. 

“Do you have something to say, Lady?” 

Aethelflaed took a deep breath, to keep herself from stuttering. She addressed the boy, who was still sobbing quietly on the ground. “How old are you, child?” She asked, trying to speak with some tenderness. She noticed that the disruption in the crowd had finally reached the front - it was a young woman, a Danish woman by the look of her. Her face was distraught. She was stricken into silence at the sight of Aethelflaed speaking to the boy. 

He gasped a bit and forced the words out, trying to control his tears. “I’m not sure…ten years, I think?” 

Aethelflaed swallowed. She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. 

“What is the penalty for a Saxon child stealing grain?” She asked Aelfric, controlling the emotion in her voice. 

He smiled and spoke as if explained something to someone very slow and foolish. “It is the same penalty, whether the child is Saxon or Dane.” 

“And when was the last time you executed a Saxon child under the age of twelve?” 

Aelfric blinked. “I cannot remember a time when that has been necessary, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed curled her mouth in disgust. “Nor is it ever necessary, Aelfric.” She said the name almost pejoratively. “According to the law codes of my father King Alfred, no child under the age of twelve may be executed for any crime. And those who did not wish to be known for their cruelty would do well, I think, to withhold execution for any man under of the age…sixteen or more.” 

Aelfric’s face was suddenly very cold. “He is a Dane. King Alfred’s law codes do not apply to him.” 

Aethelflaed smiled icily. “You just said yourself that the same punishment applies to both Saxon and Dane.” 

The silence was steely. Aelfric looked at her as if _she_ had committed a hanging offense. None of the other ceorls spoke. Aethelflaed continued. 

“Are Danes not held the same under the laws of this land?” She asked the people at large, not simply the ceorls. The townsfolk shifted uneasily, confused and uncertain as to what direction the council was going. 

“The Danes have their own laws, Lady.” It was another ceorl who spoke now, an older man with a thin black mustache and wide set eyes. “That is why they call East of Watling Street ‘Danelaw.’”

Aethelflaed ignored him. The suggestion that she did not know this was intended to humiliate her, she knew. “And tell me,” she addressed the townsfolk again. “Do the laws of the Danes allow a child of ten to be hung for stealing grain?” 

The Danish woman spoke for the first time, her face pale and plaintive. “No, Lady,” she said desperately. “It is not the custom there. A fine perhaps, or the service of a kinsman to repay the debt. These things would be appropriate…in Dane law.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, and turned back to Aelfric. “So.” She spoke with no apology in her voice. “You may either admit that your own judgement is more savage than that of the Danes. Or you may heed the wise counsel who have received in judgement of this boy.” 

Aelfric looked as if he was being forced to swallow pitch. “Fine,” he said finally, sourly. “The woman will pay off her kinsmen’s debt. She is obviously the bitch who whelped him. She will be in the service of Leofrid until he sees fit to release her.” 

Leofrid turned to the woman, and Aethelflaed saw her tremble and swallow nervously. She was fair, and young, with a pretty round face, and the man’s eyes raked her lasciviously as he took her in. 

Aethelflaed spoke again, without thinking. “I will pay the debt,” she declared. The crowd gasped and all eyes turned to look at her. “I will pay the debt of the grain to Leofrid. And this woman and her child can work off the debt in my own service.” She nodded at the Danish woman and saw her face flush and her eyes widen. Aethelflaed couldn’t tell if she was just shocked, relieved, or even more frightened at the prospect. 

Aelfric was coughing lightly, spinning one of the ties of his cape in his hands. He gave a little smile that made Aethelflaed want to slap him. 

“Lady, I do not know if that is possible. The man Leofrid may counter your proposal, as is his right—”

“Are you challenging me, Aelfric?” She didn’t expect the cold savagery in her own voice. “Are you challenging my judgement, Leofrid?” The old farmer glowered sullenly but did not meet her eye. 

“No, Lady.” 

“Well.” She returned Aelfric’s cloying smile. “I suppose it is settled then, no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that King Aesthelstan (featured as a kiddo in Season 4) was raised in Aethelflaed's court? Yea, I know in TLK in ends up being Uhtred that raises him, but TLK has an unfortunate habit of handing all of Aethelflaed real, historical badass accomplishments to Uhtred in a way that really pisses me off lol. Aethelstan being raised by Aethelflaed was, in fact, likely one of the reasons that he had support over Edward's other sons when it came time for the succession. He was inheriting the hopes of a unified England, and a kingdom which was essentially Wessex and Mercia combined. He represented this dual identity, being of Wessex by birth and Mercia by upbringing. 
> 
> Later in life, as king, Aethelstan changed the law codes to forbid the execution of children under the age of sixteen, because he thought it was cruel and unjust. Given that he was raised in Aethelflaed's court, and likely educated on some matters of state by Aethelflaed herself, it's not impossible that he got this progressive idea from her! So yea, that's my dorky little moment, thanks for coming to my TED talk.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: intense misogyny, physical attack, violence

He came to her tent that night. She should have expected it. She should have known that such a man would not allow his humiliation to go unanswered. 

“Lady.” It was Aldun again, the Saxon-raised Dane. “Lady, the man Aelfric is here to see you again.” 

Aethelflaed felt her insides coil and tense at the news. She wanted to turn the man away. She shared a look with Audr, who sat in the tent with her, spinning wool. Audr had not been at the court and so had not witnessed Aelfric in person. But Aethelflaed had told her what had happened. Audr shook her head slightly, expressing her opinion on the matter. Perhaps Aethelflaed should have listened. But she was trying to be stately, she was trying to be courtly and well-mannered. So she proceeded, shakily. 

“Let him in, Aldun,” she said with a sigh. The hound bitch Whitetooth growled beneath her breath as he entered, but Aethelflaed hushed her with a hand. 

“Lady.” He gave the same obsequious bow, but his face was hard and his eyes cold. 

“Is there something you need, Aelfric?” 

His mouth was a thin line. “It was…not wise of you to counter my judgement, at the court today.” 

“I did not seek your opinion on my actions, Aelfric Reeve.” 

He smiled, the same condescending smile she had grown to loathe. She had only known the man for a day, and she already hated him with every bone in her body. 

“You are new to Mercia, Lady. You are new to our ways. It would be wise to seek the counsel of those who are not.” 

She leaned down to stroke Whitetooth, buying herself a moment to respond. When she looked back up, Aldun had come a step closer. Audr was a tense rod in the corner, looking back and forth from Aelfric to Aethelflaed with narrowed eyes. 

“I trust the counsel I keep,” she said finally. “I have no need of yours.” 

Aelfric’s face twisted in a grimace and his eyes flashed darkly. Aethelflaed realized then that she had made a mistake. He had come to punish her. 

He reached forward with a quick move and grabbed one of her braids, twisting it roughly in his hand. Several things happened at once. Audr stood quickly and took two steps towards them, her spinning abandoned. Aethelflaed rose shakily, trying to pull away from Aelfric’s hand, but he gripped her harder, until she cried at in pain. Whitetooth stood and growled at Aelfric but he kicked out at her sharply, and the hound crooned in pain. Aethelflaed heard Audr’s breath coming in fast and loud, as the girl tried to decide what to do. Aethelflaed kept her own breath measured, and stared fiercely into Aelfric’s dark eyes. 

“Do you know what they say about you, Lady Aethelflaed?” The title was pure mockery. Aethelflaed was surprised at the calmness she felt. It was strangely disquieting, to realize she had endured so much from men like him. His cruelty did not send her reeling now. 

He twisted her hair again, until she whimpered against her will. He wanted a response from her. He would force one if he had. Audr tried to take another step towards them, but he shot her a dark look, as if threatening to hurt Aethelflaed more if she came closer. Audr stalled. 

“They say you gave yourself to Siegfried’s men,” he spat at out her. “They say he humped you himself, in front of his entire hall.” 

Aetheflaed laughed humorlessly, to her own surprise. The story was so far from the truth as to be laughable. Aelfric placed his other hand around her throat. “They say you are whore to half the Danes in Mercia now.” He pulled her face to look at him and she did not avoid his eyes. She felt the fire within herself, cold and deadly, something like what lay in the bellies of the dragons that roamed on the edges of the world. She felt it surge up through her, through her voice and through his eyes, through the flesh that Aelfric grasped at so clumsily. She felt her fury burn through her and into him, eating him from the inside out.

“And yet I will never be your whore.” She said, and she spat fully into his face. 

Aelfric raised his hand and punched her in the stomach. She cried out at the exact moment that Audr called “Aldun!” as loud as she could. Aelfric turned as Aldun entered, wild faced and confused. Then the half-Dane lunged at the Saxon, knocking him away from Aethelflaed and onto the ground, where they began grappling with each other roughly. Aldun punched Aelfric squarely in the face, but then Aelfric retaliated with a punch to Aldun’s gut. Aethelflaed’s own breath still struggled to come, she had been knocked so windless by Aelfric’s blow. 

Aelfric took control then, rolling over on top of Aldun and grasping around his throat with long-fingered hands. But Whitetooth had recovered from her beating and lunged at Aelfric, pushing him off of Aldun and trying to tear at him with her wide mouth. Aelfric screamed roughly and tried to cover his face with his hands, which soon became bloody. Aethelflaed grabbed her sword, Bright Blood, from behind the seat she had rested in and unsheathed it with one practiced move. She was shaky but she did not hesitate. 

She made a noise, and Whitetooth turned sharply in response. “Leave it,” she said calmly. “Leave it.” And the hound backed off, panting with bloody jaws. Aldun was scrambling to his feet and drawing his own sword. Audr knelt, her arms around Whitetooth. Aelfric was moaning lowly in the shadowed corner of his tent. Blood pooled from his face. 

Aethelflaed thought of Haesten, and of Siegfried. She thought of Aethelred. His cruel, pale face swam in her mind and disappeared. She thought of all the men who had ever tried to hurt her, to humiliate her, to make her small and scared, to make her beg. She thought of Erik. Her heart was like a drum in her chest. 

“Do you have any last words, Aelfric Reeve?” She said simply. Her breath was still heavy, but her voice was clear. 

She saw his eyes widen, she saw his face contort as he realized that she would kill him there, for what he had done. She realized something in that moment. She realized her status and title would never get her anywhere with men like Aelfric. They would scrape and bow, but at the end of the day, they would always try to crush her beneath their heels for the fun of it. 

There was a difference between cruelty and justice, she realized. There was a difference, between power and worth. 

Aelfric said nothing. He glared up at her. Aethelflaed drove Bright Blood into his belly, up through his chest, until his blood pooled slick through her fingers. She did not blink as she watched the life leave his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know things have been kind of dark and angsty lately in the story. Lots of trauma, abuse, violence against both Aethelflaed and Erik. I promise I don’t actually get off on writing this stuff, but it’s just what’s coming up at this point in the plot. I promise that the things they are experiencing right now are kind of important for later plot developments. Also, I know the whole “trauma as character development” thing is kind of gross and I’m not super into that, but yea, I mean the traumas we experience do shape our stories, how we see ourselves, and the choices we make. And unfortunately, Aethelflaed is dealing with some violent misogyny in response to her stepping into her own power. It sucks, but I think it’s likely that it was her experience in a lot of ways… 
> 
> Okay, anyway, angsty disclaimer aside. Now, onward.


	40. Chapter 40

“The townsfolk are not pleased, Lady.” It was her man Edgewulf who spoke, back from scouting in Lundenwic. Aethelflaed took his counsel in an open pavilion, around a low fire. Her own tent still reeked of blood and shit from the killing. 

Aethelflaed sighed impatiently. “I have claimed the killing. I have paid weregild to Aelfric’s sour old mother. There are witnesses who can attest to the attack. What more do they want?” 

“I do not know, Lady, I am only bringing my observations. I suppose…it feels confusing to them. Your husband is not here. For all they know, you act on the will of your father, and Wessex. You know how stories are born.” 

“People always talk,” Birger said impatiently. “Does it matter, in the long term?”

“The story will spread.” Edgewulf cautioned. 

“And threaten to undo all the hard work we’ve done so far.” Aethelflaed closed her eyes briefly and massaged the bridge of her nose. “You are right, Edgewulf. Stories do matter. If they did not, then we have wasted weeks of work traipsing around the Mercian countryside.” 

“The killing was justified, though!” Birger said, adamantly. “He attacked a noble lady in her own tent.” 

“But the people did not see that,” Aethelflaed said, her optimism wearing thin. “They only know I disagreed with him at the hundred court, and now their reeve is dead.” 

“Yes, Lady,” Edgewulf agreed. 

Aethelflaed thought for a long moment. The men seemed to have gotten accustomed to her expressions, and waited for her to speak without interruption. 

“We need to put our own story out. We need to seed the countryside with the truth, before the lies can spread.” 

“We need to go to Beamfleot, Lady,” Birger countered gently but fervently. “We are running out of time.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, an idea dawning in her mind. “Bring me the woman. The Danish woman with the child. I must speak to her.” 

“What is your child’s name?” Aethelflaed asked the woman. The woman sat uneasily in front of her, in a seat that Aethelflaed had gestured for her to take. Her boy played a ways off with Birger, who was showing him some simple sword moves with a short stick. The woman’s eyes flicked often back and forth between Aethelflaed and her child. 

“His name is Erik, Lady.” Aethelflaed’s breath caught in her throat. “Erik Gudrunsson.” 

Aethelflaed covered her surprised with a smile. “And you are Gudrun?” 

“Yes, Lady.” She looked away uncomfortably. “Erik has no father.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, allowing Gudrun’s moment of discomfort to pass. 

“The people are angry, about what happened yesterday. Do you know that?” 

Gudrun coughed and looked at her hands. “About the reeve? I cannot say I understand what happened, Lady.” 

“I killed him,” Aethelflaed admitted easily. Gudrun’s eyes flashed with unease. “He attacked me. He was angry at me…for challenging his judgement.”

“I see.” Gudrun’s eyes flashed back to her child, and rested on them for a long moment. “I do not understand…why you did that either, Lady. I mean no disrespect.” 

“It is my job to uphold the laws of the people, and to challenge them if they are unjust,” Aethelflaed explained. “That is what a leader is supposed to do. Not…simply to fill their own coffers and exercise their own whims.” 

“Yes, Lady.”

Gudrun was still nervous, and Aethelflaed let the woman ease for a long moment. 

“I need your help, Gudrun.” 

“M-my help, Lady? I do not understand.” 

“It is a simple thing, and should bring you no danger. You can…think of it as a repayment of debt, if you wish.” 

Gudrun took a steadying breath. “Yes, Lady?” 

“Do you know the women, who follow the camp?” Gudrun looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “I understand if you do not wish to…associate with them.” 

“I do not judge women like that, Lady. We all do what we must to survive.” 

Aethelflaed smiled thinly. “Indeed. I need you to speak to them…and to anyone else you can find. Not…in the village, I fear that is a lost cause. But beyond the village, on the roads and in other towns nearby. I will give you food and some coin, to support your traveling.” 

“What should I tell them, Lady?” 

“I think you understand me better than you let on, Gudrun. I promise you, I am not the kind of a person that a woman like you needs to hide her intelligence around.” 

“Lady…” Gudrun looked suddenly sheepish. 

“I recognize it, because I have done it myself. We all do what we must to survive, no?” 

Gudrun smiled then, honestly, and the look of worry eased from her face. 

“I will tell them that the man Aelfric Reeve wished to hang a boy of ten for stealing a handful of corn,” she said. “And that the Lady Aethelflaed stepped in to save the boy’s life.” 

Aethelflaed smiled. “I think that is a good way to put it.” 

“And when Aelfric Reeve tried to attack her in revenge, in the night like a common thief, she killed him in defense with her own sword.” 

“It is a good story,” Aethelflaed said. Gudrun nodded. “And the best part is…it is the truth.” 

They struck the camp the next day, preparing to cross into East Anglia. Aethelflaed would need to pare down the party before crossing the border, where they would travel more swiftly and with greater discretion. Half the column were sent back to Oxenford, or dispatched to other burhs of the Southeast, to hold them in Aethelflaed’s name. She felt proud of the work she had done in the Southeastern shires, and felt confident that they would rise for her, if need be. Aethelred still held Aegelsburgh, but he would have to convene with his Witan by Easter, and would likely retreat to a place of power in the Northwest such as Wircestershire, where the fyrd was still gathered. Aethelflaed had given Edgar of Aebingdune leave to retake Aegelsburgh, if Aethelred left it and the chances were good. If he did, she would be able to say that she held the whole of the Southeast - at least in theory. But she could not know for certain until the war drums sounded.

They camped the last night in Mercia in a simple clump of tents, their fires sparse and the woods around them quiet. The trail of tinkers and whores had already started to disband, and Aethelflaed had sent her hounds back to Oxenford with the Dane Magni. She missed the sound of their breath, and the feeling of safety she felt when they sat by her side. But she did not wish to be troubled with feeding them on the hard trek through Danelaw. 

She woke in the early light, before the sun had fully risen, her stomach churning and her face hot and damp. She thought she would be sick, and nearly rose to run from the tent. But then she turned to see Aldun standing awkwardly beside her bed, apparently trying not to startle her.

“Aldun?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Audr was stirring in the corner. “What is it?” 

“Apologies, Lady. There is a girl here to see you.” 

“A girl?” Aethelflaed shared a look with Audr. Audr shrugged, her face confused. “Yes, let her in.” Aldun nodded. Aethelflaed’s stomach still churned, but she breathed in and out slowly until the feeling eased a bit.

Her mind was still clouded from sleep, and she didn’t recognize the girl who entered at first. She was Audr’s age or younger, with sleek brown hair. She had a round, pretty face with dark wide-set eyes. 

“Lady Aethelflaed?” She asked, tentatively. 

“Yes…” 

“It is me, Clufweart! From Henleigh.” Aethelflaed’s mind reeled for a moment, and then she remembered the girl with a flash and a rush. Clufweart, the bold village girl who had outshot the boys with her self made bow. 

“Clufweart?” Aethelflaed struggled to stand up, surpassing the urge to rub her face. “What are you doing here?” 

“I have come to join you!” The girl’s face was shining, her cheeks flushed with nervous excitement. “If you will still have me, of course…” 

“But your father would not allow it,” Aethelflaed said, suddenly wary. 

Clufweart became awkward, looking down at her feet. “I have run away, Lady. To join you…” 

Aethelflaed’s heart fell. “Clufweart. I cannot take you against your father’s will.” To Aethelflaed’s surprise, Clufweart fell down on her knees and clasped her hands together in front of her. 

“Lady Aethelflaed, I beg you!” There might have been tears in her eyes, or perhaps the girl was very good at affecting emotions. “My father…he had me set to marry a man older than him! A cruel man! That is why I could not go with you. And I know, Lady, I know that I am destined for greater things than that! I promise you, I will serve you loyally, and never give you cause you regret taking me on.” She was still begging, her eyes closed and her face scrunched in desperate need. “I beg you, Lady. Please do not send me back.” 

Aethelflaed sighed and exchanged a long look with Audr. Audr’s face was slightly amused, her eyes narrowed at the girl’s performance. But after a moment, she gave a shrug as if to say “Oh, alright then.” 

“Stand up, Clufweart,” Aethelflaed said, trying not to sound too stern. The girl rose to her feet with shaky hope. “Can you ride, Clufweart?” 

Her face lit up like the moon. “Yes, Lady! I have often been punished for stealing the priest’s horse!…” she trailed off, noticing Aethelflaed’s face. 

“There will be no more stealing of horses if you join my guard, Clufweart.” 

“No, Lady,” she looked down at her feet for a moment, then back up into Aethelflaed’s face. “I have brought my bow, and my own quiver of arrows. I will not let you down, Lady, I promise!” 

“We ride into East Anglia, today. To the fortress of Beamfleot. It will be very dangerous, Clufweart. Our lives may be at risk. Are you sure you are ready for such a journey?” 

Clufweart was nearly breathless, her eyes wide and raptured. “Yes, Lady. I think so, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed sighed again and nodded. “Aldun!” She called, and the half-Dane stuck his head back into the tent. “Find a horse for Clufweart, and make sure she carries her share in rations.” Aldun nodded. “We leave at sun’s rise.” 


	41. Chapter 41

They crossed into East Anglia soon after. Aethelflaed had thought the countryside around Lunden to be loose and lawless, but it was nothing compared to the farms and villages of East Anglia. Most of the settlements they passed through were little more than burnt husks. Sometimes a child or a stray animal would disappear from sight as they crested a hill, or they would feel invisible eyes watching them as they passed through what appeared to be an abandoned town. But there was little more welcome than that to be found. This was the land under Siegfried’s law. This was the land he would create in Wessex and Mercia, if he had his way. 

Those who proceeded into East Anglia did so not as a procession, but as a war party. They rode hard through the days without the Mercian banner, and camped in secrecy in wooded hollows at night. Aethelflaed thought often of her father, and worried. The thought of his spies chewed at her in the darkness as she tried to find sleep, and she played out imaginary conversations with him as she rode through the long hours in the day. He would know of her movements through Mercia, and perhaps even of her crossing into East Anglia towards Beamfleot. Whether he knew her true motivations, she could only guess. What he would say if he did know…well that, she could imagine well enough. She wondered if Edmund had returned to him with news of Aethelred’s treachery, and whether he sent warriors now to help her…or to halt her. She could do nothing but move forward with her plan, and with her path, and pray that he might forgive her in the end. 

She was distracted often from her churning stomach and anxious thoughts by Clufweart’s insistent question-asking about every aspect of the journey - the landscape of East Anglia, the fortifications of Beamfleot, the life histories of each man and horse that rode in Aethelflaed’s party. It was sometimes endearing and often exhausting. Audr seemed to feel similarly, torn between amusement and frustration with the girl’s talkative nature and her blusterous storytelling. Aethelflaed remembered that Audr had been practicing with the bow as well, and had brought hers with her to be of use on the journey. She hoped there would be no unfriendly competition between the two. 

They rode for three days before they met Siegfried’s scouts. Rather, the scouts found them, camped in a low hollow between two wooded hills, some miles still from Beamfleot. They were gathered in clumps around low camp fires, taking some breakfast before beginning for the fourth day when she heard the crow call from her own scouts. There was the sound of panicked rustling from the Eastern ridge, and then, to Aethelflaed’s horror, her scouts faces emerged, white and startled above the Danish blades held to their throats. There were at least ten men behind them, hulking shadows in the pre-dawn light. Aethelflaed’s party jumped and bristled, grabbing their own blades and axes, but they were all but trapped in the low hollow. Clufweart had drawn an arrow and aimed it at one of the men who held a blade. 

“Put down your bow, Clufweart!” Aethelflaed spoke to her, tensely. 

“But, Lady, I have a clear shot. I can get him, I’m sure of it!” Clufweart protested. Birger’s eyes widened at her refusal. 

“Put it down. Now.” Aethelflaed’s voice held no kindness in that moment. Clufweart lowered her bow, chided. 

Aethelflaed turned back to the Danes, who seemed to be joking amongst themselves at her expense. “We come to treat with the Lord Siegfried!” Aethelflaed declared, as bravely as she could. She leaned down gingerly to pick up a newly leafed branch that had fallen to the forest floor, waving it to the men on the ridge. “We come to speak, as equals!” 

One of the men started laughing riotously. “Lady Aethelflaed! Is that you? Come back to Beamfleot with your tail between your legs? I never thought I’d see the day.” 

Aethelflaed flushed and narrowed her eyes. The man had stepped forward into better light, revealing his red brown hair and beard, but she did not recognize his face. 

“I do not know you, Dane.” 

He laughed again. “Ah, but I know you.” He spat suddenly. “You killed my Lord Haesten. It is not something I will soon forget.” 

Aethelflaed released a tense breath through her nose. 

“We come to speak to the Lord Siegfried,” she repeated, ignoring his words. “Will you take us?” 

The man thought for a long moment. He appeared to be the leader of the scout party. “I will take a hostage. The rest of you will stay here, until I can deliver your message to Lord Siegfried and learn his will.” 

“You will take us half the way to Beamfleot,” Aethelflaed countered. “We are still miles away. Then you may take your hostage to Siegfried.” 

The man glared at her. “You are not in a position to negotiate.” He made a gesture and one of the other man twisted the knife at her scout’s throat. Aethelflaed did not flinch. 

“And you are not in a position to explain to Siegfried that you let the Lady Aethelflaed turn back to Mercia.” 

He laughed again, wickedly. “Do you think that I will let you go?” 

Aethelflaed exchanged at look with Birger. The man seemed strangely relaxed, his hand held loosely on the hilt of his blade, his face unreadable.

“You will take us halfway. The Lord Siegfried will want to see me. He will want to hear what I have to say.” Siegfried did not care to see her, she knew, and she had little of worth to say to him. But it was the only leverage she had. 

Finally, the man grunted and sighed dramatically. “You will come halfway. Then we will take our hostage. And if there is any trouble, we will kill you all.” 

The rode in a tight column, hemmed in on all sides by the Northmen. It was another half day’s ride to the spot where they would wait on Siegfried’s whim. Aethelflaed’s stomach chewed itself uncomfortable throughout the entire ride.

“I will go,” Birger said, a few hours in, startling Aethelflaed out of her anxious thoughts. “I will be the hostage.” 

Aethelflaed was taken aback. “No, Birger.” She shook her head. “No. I cannot risk you. You are too valuable to me.” 

“And who would you risk in my place? Clufweart?” He smiled lightly as he spoke, but Aethelflaed felt his words as a rebuke. She looked away. 

“I don’t know. But Birger…Siegfried’s men…they cannot be trusted.” 

“You survived their prison. I reckon it would be affront to my honor if I could not do the same.” 

Aethelflaed sighed. “That…was different, Birger.” 

“Do you have a better idea?” He asked quietly. 

Aethelflaed thought for a long moment and then glared at him. “No. I don’t. But you must be safe, Birger. You must be careful. ” 

“As must any man who is dear to the Lady Aethelflaed.” Aethelflaed could not help rolling her eyes at him. “I am a Dane at heart, Lady,” he continued. “These men do not scare me.” 

“Well perhaps they should.” 

Birger only laughed. 


	42. Chapter 42

The Northmen left them at the edge of a vast and muggy swamp. The land was wide and flat, leaving them completely exposed to attack. They would have to muck through yards and yards of thick, sucking mud and sharp sedge grass if they needed to beat an escape. The horses whined and mewed, sick on the stale water and looking for fresher fodder. Aethelflaed and her men were soon bug bitten and sour in mood. 

Two of the Danes remained with them, claiming the only spot of raised ground and beating any others back from their smoky fire with fierce glares. They sharpened their blades and occasionally laughed menacingly, their voices ringing in the air before being sucked in the rotten water. Aethelflaed did not know them. 

Birger had gone with the main party of Danes, and Aethelflaed had no doubt that he would soon be friends with them against all odds. It was his special talent, to be likable and easy, and she hoped it would serve him now. She had pressed a small token into his hand as discreetly as she could before he left - a silver ring that Erik had given her over the Geoltide, the last time they had been truly together. 

“Find him, if you can,” she had whispered fiercely. “Tell him I am coming.” 

Birger had only nodded and then mounted his horse to ride beside the others. Aethelflaed prayed that she would see him again. 

It was a day before the Danes returned, and by the time they appeared on the edge of the horizon, Aethelflaed’s mood was lower than it had been in weeks. She supposed that was the purpose of the awful swamp, to leave them sick and dejected.

“Siegfried will not negotiate,” Aethelflaed had predicted dourly hours before. “He will kill Birger out of spite and leave us to rot here.” 

“Do not say such awful things!” Audr had chided, her face shocked. She seemed less demoralized by the swamp than Aethelflaed was. But then again, Audr had grown up in East Anglia. Aethelflaed tried to take heart, remembering that she herself had lived for some time in the marshes of Aethelney and had, apparently, survived. Clufweart had wrapped herself fully in her cloak and to Aethelflaed’s surprise, dozed easily against a clump of wet earth. For all her bravado, she was hardy and unfazed by rough travel.

“You do not have to go back there, Audr. You do not have to face Siegfried again, if you do not want to.” Aethelflaed was trying to be kind, at least she thought that was what she was trying to do. Instead, it seemed as if she was forcing her own fear onto Audr. She swallowed, wishing she could take back her words.

Audr laughed lightly. “I am not afraid of Siegfried, Lady. I am not afraid of any of them.” 

Aethelflaed closed her eyes. Audr was unafraid, and Birger was unafraid. Cufweart, too, showed no fear. So it was just her then, alone and uncertain. 

Audr squeezed her hand gently. “All will be well, Lady. We will find a way. I am sure of it.”

Now Beamfleot emerged into view as the rode, and every moment set a memory blooming before Aethelflaed’s eyes. The docks were thick with men who watched her menacingly, the fruits of the seeds sowed by her ransomed silver. Those were the docks where she had first arrived, terrified and humiliated, where she had later watched in horror as Erik’s life bled out of him as she had been recaptured. 

The beach was out of sight, but she could trace the path with her mind, through the high sedge grass, through the small scrub line of alder and willow. That was where she had bathed, where she had chewed willow twigs, where she had kissed Erik and they had taken each other for the first time. The memory of it pressed down on her body, and she felt a flush of need and of embarrassment for her past self, who had thought it would be so _easy_ \- to simply love and be free. She had been a fool, then. Nothing had been easy. 

They had left their horses near the docks, and now they walked through the old Southern camp, where she thought she could still smell smoke and fear, where she could still hear the screams of horses and feel Erik’s slick hand in hers as they tried to run, as they tried to be free together. Now they walked through the rough hewn gates, under the arch, into the walls, into the yard full of men and the memory of panic which she tried to swallow, telling herself she would not be trapped here, she would not be lost here, they would not be killed, they would not be destroyed in fire and blood. 

Her eyes scanned wildly across the yard and she knew she was searching for him, for Erik, for his pale head and his kind eyes, for the shape of his body, tall and strong and gentle, for the feeling it would wake in her when she saw him, finally. But she did not see him. He was not there. She only saw Siegfried, his face cold and chiseled like stone, his dark hair drawn back tightly from his face, his expression like a punch in her gut. Birger stood near him, his hands bound roughly in front of him. Aethelflaed took a steadying breath. 

“Lady Aethelflaed.” There was no tone to Siegfried’s voice, none of the dramatic mockery she had known him to use, when she had known him before. His voice was pure ice. “I hear you wish to speak with me.” 

Aethelflaed swallowed. “I thank you for receiving us, Lord Siegfried. And for taking care of the hostage we gave.” She nodded towards Birger. Siegfried spat. 

“What do you want, Princess?” It had been a long time since he had spoken to her like that. She was surprised to find it did not shake her. “Or were you simply so desperate for my company that you could not stay away?” 

Aethelflaed ignored his slight. “My men are hungry, Lord Siegfried. We have waited in the swamp and traveled far to get here.” 

“You want a royal welcome?” Siegfried’s voice was fierce with mockery now. In truth, Aethelflaed wanted more time - to speak to Birger, to figure out what was happening in the fortress. She needed to clear her head and find her plan. 

She laughed lightly, trying to appear cool and collected. “I reckon you can afford it, with the ransom you received.” 

Siegfried glared at her. He might have laughed once, at her boldness. But they were beyond that now. 

“See them fed,” he barked to a man beside him. “And do not let them out of your sight.” 

“Yes, Lord.” 

They ate in the hall, at a long low table near the door. Men fringed around them, blocking the exit, but the food and ale were pleasant enough, and served to ease Aethelflaed’s sour stomach. She wished it would quell her fear her fear as well, but the anxious tension remained in her jaw and temples. 

“Are we prisoners, Lady?” Audr asked, gesturing with her head towards the guards. 

“I do not know, Audr. I suppose there is nothing stopping Siegfried from holding me hostage again.” 

Audr sighed nervously. “If so, we have walked right into our own prison.” 

“We should have demanded our own hostage,” Aethelflaed said, suddenly feeling foolish and sick with regret. “We should have left one of Siegfried’s men with our own, in the swamp.” 

Audr was shaking her head. “Siegfried would never have given you a hostage he actually cared about. It would have been no real assurance.” 

Aethelflaed swallowed. “I think he hates me, Audr. Siegfried. He does not wish to see me or speak to me. He wishes me gone from his life and to never have to think on me again. Perhaps that is assurance enough…” 

“Or perhaps it is assurance that he will kill you and be done with it!” But Aethelflaed was shushing Audr with wide eyes, because Birger was walking over to their table, his arms unbound, and pulling up a trencher of meat. He sat calmly beside them, never looking directly at them, and Aethelflaed followed his lead. She leaned her head in as if speaking to Audr. 

“I have not seen him,” Birger said to his food. “I have asked around but…no one will tell me anything.” 

Aethelflaed resisted turning to look at him with all her strength. “You think he is not here?” It was hard, keeping her voice low and even. 

“No, he is here. I am sure of it. Why else would they guard you so heavily? You are already in the fortress. Siegfried does not want you to find him.” 

Aethelflaed let out a breath. “What can I do then? I have come to bargain and…I cannot leave without even trying.” 

“You should bargain,” Audr said, with confidence. “You should ask to negotiate for Erik’s life.”

“But…if Siegfried lies, if he refuses…? Then what?” 

“He probably will,” Birger agreed. “But he may reveal something in the process.” 

“So then…we go from there.” Aethelflaed said, tentatively. 

Audr nodded vaguely into her ale.“One step at a time.” 

They sat across from each other at a wide oak table in a corner of the hall. A fire crackled in a large open pit, but it was a bit warm for the flame. Aethelflaed sat on her woolen cloak and tried to roll up the sleeves of her linen sark. Siegfried seemed unfazed by the heat, but beads of sweat pooled on his forehead and occasionally dripped down the side of his face to disappear into his dark beard. 

“You know why I am here, Siegfried.” Birger and Aldun sat on either side of her, their weapons at their sides. Siegfried sat close to the man with the red brown beard who had found Aethelflaed’s party in the woods. He had been one of Haesten’s men, he’d said. But Haesten was dead now, and he had found himself at Siegfried’s right hand. Aethelflaed wondered how long he would live. 

Siegfried’s face crooked mockingly. “You missed the hospitality of my hall?” 

Aethelflaed smiled cooly. “I come to bargain for the life of Lord Erik.” 

Silence settled thickly over the hall like dust. A man fidgeted nervously in the corner. Siegfried’s face reverted to a glare. 

“So you admit it. You were a whore to my brother and have come to beg for his cock back.” The men around Siegfried laughed tensely. Aethelflaed sucked her teeth and let a tight breath out of her nose. 

“Erik is a loyal friend. I seek to bargain for his life, as he tried to save my life when I was a prisoner here.” 

“You were _his_ prisoner!” Siegfried said, savagely. “He wanted to hump you, not save you. You were a _hostage_.” 

Of course he wanted to humiliate her. It was a small thing, in the larger picture. She controlled her breath and spoke again. “What is your price? For Erik’s life? Name it.” 

Siegfried’s face seemed frozen in a half snarl. “Erik is not here,” he said simply. “Erik is dead.” 

Aethelflaed did not breathe. “You lie.”

“He died in Lord Olaf’s prison. In Hreopandune.” Siegfried’s face was a shield now, closed and unreadable. 

“I heard you retrieved him from Hreopandune and that he is your own prisoner now.”

Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. “And why would I need to keep my own brother as a prisoner?”

Silence settled back over the hall. Aethelflaed did not respond. She gathered her words together with her breath and released them slowly and thickly, like the smoke from a wet fire. Her voice was deep and quiet. 

“You prepare for war, Siegfried. But you will not meet your ally Aethelred when you cross the border into Mercia. You will meet my army and my men, and your ships will flounder trying to take my burhs. We will not step aside and let you plunder your way into Wessex.”

Siegfried laughed. “Is that supposed to frighten me, Princess? If ships flounder, more will come. If men die, more will come. This is the army your ransom has bought, Princess. Wessex and Mercia will not endure it.”

Aethelflaed saw Siegfried then, more clearly than she ever had. She could not say what it was about him that struck her, or why the words came as they did. She thought it might have been her gift, as Birger’s gift was an easy friendliness, as Audr’s was a sort of kind cleverness, a sharp tongue honeyed with love. Aethelflaed’s gift was this clarity, which came in sharp flashes amid moments of fear and uncertainty. It was bigger than herself, and also deeply rooted to her own core. 

“I will give you one chance, Siegfried,” she spoke. “Give me Erik, and I will not destroy you. Give me Erik, and you may have the chance to live.” 

Siegfried’s face was twisted, his eyes wide, his mouth a grimace. His voice was a low growl in his throat. “You have come into my hall. You are surrounded by my men. I could have you killed in an instant. I could watch as each man here takes his turn of you. I could make you my slave.” Birger and Aldun had tensed, their hands reaching for their weapons, but Aethelflaed gestured for them to ease. Her heart was pounding but her mind was still clear. She felt very light. 

“You could do that, Siegfried. And there would be no one to hold you to account. Because the only man who would save you from yourself is, apparently, dead. The only good part of you was Erik. And he is gone.” 

Siegfried actually flinched, his face falling and his body recoiling. He looked for a moment like he would draw his axe, or unsheathe the knife that acted as his right hand. The moment stretched for a very long time, tense and taut as a cat gut string. 

“Get out,” he said finally. “Leave this hall. All of you.” His breath was ragged in his chest. “If I see you again, I will kill you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Aethelflaed, I feel like I've gotten a little stuck in the swamp with these chapters. It happens a lot for me - I get very bogged down and spend a lot of words describing travels from point A to point B, logistics and detailed plans, how they get into the fortress, how they get out of the fortress, how.....well, you'll just have to wait and see. I feel like not all of it is necessary, and actually it's kind of boring, but I struggle to figure out what to cut without making it feel unrealistic. Obviously my writing style is very detailed, but there is a level of *too much* that I feel like I'm getting to here.
> 
> I am very open to supportive and well intentioned concrit about this issue specifically, and about other aspects of the fic if you want to give it! 
> 
> I promise that things pick up pretty rapidly from this point and don't slow down too much until the end of the story.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Y'aaaaaaaaaall. I just have to tell you all the good news - I have completed writing Fate's Lady! It is aaaaaaall done and all that is left to do is some editing. This is not the last chapter, obvs. The completed fic will be 55 chapters plus an epilogue. I am just so freaking proud of myself for finishing this whopper of a story, and I'm actually really really happy with how it turned out. I also want to let y'all know that there is a Book 3 in development! (And actually....ummm...there might be a book 4 too, yike!) So the story shall continue....
> 
> I think I am going to go with a "one chapter a week" updating schedule until all the chapters are out. I'll probably update on Wednesdays. That'll give me some time to get ahead on Book 3 and also hopefully not inundate folks with too much content at once. If you are deeply opposed to that proposal, please let me know. Readers' opinions are super important to me! 
> 
> Okay, I think that's it for now. Enjoy the next chapter, it has another lil perspective switch! As always, comments give me life - positive, critical, canon talk, history talk, weird and random - it's all good.

The torches flared brightly in the fading light. Audr could hear the heavy breath of the horses, the clink and creak of the leather-and-iron tack, the rustle and murmur of the men who hemmed them in. The sour smell of half salted water and rotting reeds stung her nose. They stood by the docks where they had left their horses, readying to leave. Audr tried to keep her hands busy, but her mind was churning rapidly. Aethelflaed looked at her across the wide back of the chestnut mare she rode, fiddling with the horse’s saddle. 

Aethelflaed spoke in a low whisper. “He is here, I am sure of it.” 

Audr chewed her lip nervously, looking back at the men who stood menacingly, waiting impatiently to drive them away. Audr nodded. “Then we must get back into the fortress, no?” 

Birger stood nearby, and looked up sharply at Audr’s words. “You are mad.” He looked to Aethelflaed. “There is no chance, Lady. Our only hope is take the fortress with your army, and rescue Erik that way.” 

Aethelflaed looked away, her face stricken with unease. “There is little hope in that.” 

Audr almost swallowed her speech, the small seed of an idea that had been growing in her mind for days now. She almost let it pass and let them ride off into the night, away from Beamfleot, and away from Erik. 

“I have an idea, Lady.” The words spilled out and she could not take them back. “It is very dangerous, but…it might work.” 

“Tell me, Audr.” Aethelflaed’s face was flushed with a sudden hope. Birger looked anxiously back and forth between them. 

“Only we could go,” she explained, gesturing to herself and Aethelflaed. “The rest would have to leave.” 

Birger’s eyes were wide. “Lady, I will not leave you here—”

Aethelflaed cut him off with a look and gestured for Audr to continue. 

Audr swallowed and took a breath. “I could get us in, I am almost sure of it. But, I do not know how we get out, with Erik.”

Aethelflaed nodded, her eyes distant and her face far away. “But it is a start. One step at a time, right?” 

Birger’s wide, friendly face was still stricken. “Lady, they will not let us ride from here without you. They will watch us until we are miles away, I am sure of it.” He looked up as one of the Danes brandished a flaming stick, swinging it towards their clump of horses as if to rush them on. Clufweart’s horse screamed and bucked and the girl barely managed to get the mare back until control. The Danes laughed. 

Audr’s mind spun, trying to fit the pieces together as quickly as she could. “You must switch cloaks with Clufweart. She will ride your mare. We will dismount in the woods up there, and…hope they do not notice two riderless horses in the dark.” 

“We’ll have to get rid of the extra horses before daybreak. Their scouts will follow us into the dawn.” Birger was still trying to talk them out of it, Audr could tell. But his words only helped to convince Aethelflaed that the plan could work. Her face seemed to clear as she made her decision. 

“We will do it, Audr. Can you distract the men, if I switch with Clufweart?” 

“Lady!” Birger’s voice was stricken. “You cannot do this! How will we know that you’re safe? Where will we find each other again?” 

Aethelflaed looked at Birger with tenderness. “I do not know, Birger. But I must try. For Erik’s sake. This…is our only chance.” 

Audr turned away, as Aethelflaed tried to ease Birger’s fear. She saw the pack of men who blocked their path back to the fortress. The man with the red-brown beard who had found them in the woods stood at the front. Audr knew him, and spoke to him now, planting her body in his line of sight. 

“Do you remember me, Thorulf?” 

He looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Did I…ride you at some point?” He said mockingly. “I swear, the child isn’t mine!” He laughed loudly with the men around him. Audr rolled her eyes. 

“You kicked me and called me a filthy kitchen dog.” 

His face was confused for a moment, then opened with recognition. He laughed again. “Oh…you’re the little bitch that ran off the Lord Erik! Siegfried told me about you. He told me he should have killed you when he had the chance.”

There was a rustle behind Audr, and Thorulf tried to crane his face over her shoulder to see what was happening. In a moment of desperation, Audr spit into his eyes. He turned back to her, his face furious, and slapped her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. “You bitch! Never mind Siegfried, _I’ll_ kill you!” He tried to lunge for her, but then they both heard the call. 

“We are leaving, Audr!” A woman sat on the chestnut mare, her royal blue cloak pulled up over her face. Her voice was commanding, but surprisingly high and thin for the Lady Aethelflaed. Audr was still dizzy and reeling, her face stinging from Thorulf’s slap, but she smiled to herself. 

She stumbled back from Thorulf, who had fumbled his attack in the moment of distraction, and mounted her horse. She rode beside the other woman, who wore a dun brown cloak grayed with age and a short sword at her hip. 

“Thank you,” Aethelflaed said. “I don’t think they noticed.” 

Thorulf and his men had taken to driving the horses with flaming rods again. Birger yelled to his horse “Chah!” and the herd eased together into a canter, up the hill and away from the docks, towards the little thicket of willow and alder. Aethelflaed and Audr shared a fleeting glance before entering the wood. _One step at a time_. 

They lay together in the darkness for what felt like hours. Huddled beneath their cloaks, at the base of an upturned clump of trees, they waited as the Mercian party fled the woods. They waited as Siegfried’s scouts gave chase, some on foot and some on horseback, stalking through the trees to follow the Mercians past the edge of their territory. They waited even more beyond that, until the rush and rumble coming from the docks and the camps seemed to quiet a bit, returning to the hum and lull of normalcy. They waited long enough that the sight of two figures walking from the wood would seem so far and distant a thing from the herd of horsemen that had fled from the fortress earlier that night. They waited that long, and a bit more. 

Audr was dizzy and sore from her fall from the horse, which had not been so light and graceful as Aethelflaed’s. Horsecraft was still somewhat new to her, and she was embarrassed that she sometimes struggled to mount and dismount with ease. So she did not tell Aethelflaed that the wind struggled to return to her lungs. She just swallowed the discomfort, and explained the rest of the plan. 

“Lady…I did not want to tell you, in front of Birger. But this plan, it may…put your honor at risk.” 

Aethelflaed blinked and looked at her for a long moment in the darkness. Then she laughed. “Oh, Audr…” she said with a breath. “I think my honor is tattered to shreds at this point. Tell me, what do you plan?” 

Audr swallowed, and smiled uneasily. “Well…I have never seen it myself. But I know there is a door…a secret door that…some of the camp women use to come in and out of the fortress at night. They…” she took a breath, steeling herself. “They call it “the whore’s door.” 

Aethelflaed laughed again, a bit wildly, and Audr thought that the Lady might be nervous too, although she was trying very hard not to show it. 

“And how will we find it? The whore’s door?” 

“I knew a woman…in the camp. She wasn’t exactly a friend, but she was not an enemy either. She would find willing women, and send them to the warriors. I guess not all the warriors wish to bed slaves…” She drifted off, suddenly feeling how thin and tenuous her plan truly was. “I hope she is still alive! I hope she is still here…” The possibility that she might not be came with a cold tense knot in her stomach. 

But Aethelflaed put a steadying hand on Audr’s shoulder, as if hearing her thoughts. “It is a good plan, Audr. It is a good start.” Aethelflaed let out a deep breath. “Whatever happens…it will be fate. All we can do is try.” 

Audr smiled, feeling her heart lighten a bit. “You sound like a Dane, Lady.” 

Aethelflaed looked at her with a glint in her eye. “Perhaps I am becoming one.” 

The woman Groa was still in the camp, to Audr’s intense relief. A mute, wide-eyed wash girl pointed them towards the tent where Groa slept with some of the other women and a long haired mutt hound with a taste for blood. Groa greeted them through the door flap with a sour look, after beating back the hound until he whimpered and curled up in the corner. 

She looked Audr up and down with beady eyes. She had a round face, with sagging skin below her small eyes, and graying ginger hair. “What do you want?” She asked grumpily. 

“Groa,” Audr spoke, shakily. “Do you remember me? My name is Audr.” Audr had once brought Groa and her women a crock of stolen cream from the fortress kitchen, and she hoped the woman remembered that now. 

“Audr?” The woman’s face dawned with recognition. “The little kitchen girl. I haven’t seen you in an age. What are you doing here?” 

Audr looked around. The camp still flickered with dying camp fires, and eyes still watched them from the shadows. “Can we come in? Please?” 

Groa sighed but opened the door flap wider and gestured them in. There were two other women there. One was an older woman, Groa’s age, who lay on a low cot and seemed ill or disabled. Groa stroked her head lovingly as they entered. The other was younger, with long, lanky brown hair and a low cut dress. Her face was simple but pretty, with an upturned nose and a small mouth. She smiled tightly at Audr as they entered. Aethelflaed lurked behind Audr, her face shrouded in the deep hood of Clufweart’s gray-brown cloak. 

Groa turned back to face them, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I haven’t seen you around in a long time, Audr. I thought you had left this place.” There was a dark note in her voice, but still she stooped to scoop a ladle full of hot broth into a mug and hand it to Audr. Audr accepted it gratefully and took a long sip. Groa was fierce, Audr knew, but she was also kind. 

“I did,” Audr explained. “I have. But I’m back now, and…I need your help. We need your help.” 

Groa’s eyes narrowed more. “With what?” She looked at Aethelflaed sharply now, as if trying to draw her out of her cloak and into the light. “And who’s this?” 

Audr took a breath and opened her mouth to speak, but startled slightly to hear Aethelflaed’s voice behind her. “We need to get into the fortress. Through your secret door.” Aethelflaed drew down her hood as she spoke, exposing her sea-dark hair and her eyes, which flashed in the low firelight of the tent. 

Groa looked at Aethelflaed for a breath, her face frozen in an unreadable expression. When she spoke, her voice was thin. “I…know who you are. You…you are the Lady Aethelflaed.”

Aethelflaed did not hesitate. “Yes.” 

“You…you were the one…with the Lord Erik…?!” 

“Yes.”

Groa’s eyes widened and she turned towards Audr with a look of shock and fury on her face. “You…brought…the Lady Aethelflaed…to _this place_?!? _To my tent_?!” If Audr’s hands hadn’t been full of Groa’s crockery, she thought the woman might have beat her across the chest in anger. Audr took a step back, but Aethelflaed did not flinch. 

“She brought me here at my request, in my aid. We need your help. _I_ need your help.” Aethelflaed spoke, and Audr noticed how she seemed to fill the space with her words and her strength. It was a strange thing that she had noticed lately, through all their travels in Mercia. Aethelflaed was becoming something bigger than herself. People could not help but fix their eyes on her. They could not help but listen when she spoke. They could not help but love her…or hate her. It terrified Audr sometimes, and awed her more, this quality which radiated from her now, turning the faces of the women towards her, as if they were caught in rapture.

“I know it is not a small thing that I ask,” Aethelflaed continued. “And I do not ask it lightly. But if you help me, you will have my undying gratitude, and the gratitude of Mercia, to reap whenever you have need of it. I swear it on my own life.” 

Groa’s mouth was slightly open, her eyes fixed on Aethelflaed’s golden face. Finally, her gaze flicked to Audr, and then back and forth between the two, and it looked like she was about to speak. But it was the young woman whose voice rang out, shrill and brittle in the small space. 

“The Lord Erik does not want you anymore,” she said. Her face was twisted in some kind of cruelty, or some kind of pain. “He lays with me now.” 

Aethelflaed turned to the girl as if seeing her for the first time, and Audr saw the dragon within her. She was surprised the young woman did not quell under the fiery gaze that Aethelflaed fixed her with. 

Aethelflaed laughed lightly. The sound sent a shiver up Audr’s spine. “You must be mistaken.” It was a very generous thing to say, as great a gift as a dragon allowing a sheep to escape its flaming death. But the girl did not take the hint. 

She snorted dramatically. “I do not think I would mistake a Lord’s cock, do you?”

Groa moved suddenly, loosing a hand to smack the girl lightly. “Shut up,” she said tensely. Aethelflaed looked back at Audr, her eyes fierce and wild and questioning. Audr could do nothing but shake her head. “She must be lying…” Audr mouthed, and Aethelflaed nodded, her gaze very distant. 

“We will help the Lady,” Groa said hoarsely. It was unclear whether she was talking to the girl, or to Audr, or to herself. “We will help you, Lady Aethelflaed.”

The girl made a small noise and Groa shot her a deadly glare. “ _I_ will help you.” She took a breath, and it was done. The decision was made. “I will take you to the door tonight. There are other women who will come. _You_ will stay here,” she added, turning on the girl.

Aethelflaed nodded, as if she had accepted no other outcome. She turned to Audr again. “As will you.” 

Audr was aghast. “What?! Lady, no! I…I want to help you.” 

But Aethelflaed was shaking her head. “You have helped me, Audr. But it is not worth it, for you to go into the fortress. Anything could happen in there. I would not have you harmed, or…used by a man for the sake of a ruse. You will wait in the forest for us. We will come.” 

Audr was ashamed to realize she was beating back tears, blinking rapidly to keep them from falling down her face. “What if you do not, Lady? What…what am I to do then?” 

“I trust you will know what to do. One step at a time, Audr.”

“Lady—”

“I know have not always given you cause to love me, or to trust me. I know I have failed you, Audr.” Audr was shaking her head, but Aethelflaed touched her face lovingly. “I will fix this. I swear it. And I hope I can give you cause to call me friend again, one day.” 

“Lady— you…you are my friend, Aethelflaed.” Aethelflaed seemed genuinely surprised at the words, and she smiled at Audr, and then embraced her deeply. Audr was taken aback by the gesture. It had been a long time since affection had flowed so freely between them. Now Audr feared desperately that she would never see Aethelflaed again. She clung to her, returning the embrace, cherishing the moment before Aethelflaed pulled away. 

“Are you ready, Lady Aethelflaed?” Groa spoke, and Aethelflaed looked at her with steady eyes. 

“Yes.” 

Soon they were gone, and Audr was left to face the night alone. 


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a new chapter update 'cause it's Wednesday! 
> 
> CW: angst, angst, and more angst. Mentions of non-consensual sex.

Erik drifted in and out of sleep. He lay in the small cot, in the room that Aethelflaed had once been kept, guarded night and day. Erik was not guarded, although sometimes the door was barred from the outside, for reasons unknown. He did not need to be guarded to know that he was a prisoner. 

He could not remember whether he had chosen this place, or whether Siegfried had forced it upon him as some sort of rude joke. He had not been at Beamfleot long, but the details of his time there were strange and blurry, lost in the haze of the small, painful moments that stretched between sleeping. All he knew was that he had ended up in that room, his body pressed where hers had once been, his mind a dark and empty place. 

His hand had healed, in a way. The skin was no longer raw and bleeding where the flesh had been cleaved away. The wound was still puckered and red and ached most hours of the day and night, but he did not think it would fester. He grieved the loss of Audr’s healing skill, but there was nothing to be done for it. Siegfried enjoying torturing him in small, silent ways such as this. 

The door had been barred that day. He could not say why. It might still have been locked, trapping him within, but he did not care to check. He had no desire to walk through the yards and halls of the fortress. He had no desire to meet the eyes of the men. Some would be mocking, some would be pitying, and Erik could abide neither.

He was grateful that the woman had not come, although she would come again soon, he was certain. It was not her fault, the relationship that Siegfried had forced on him. But he hated her anyway. He knew Siegfried had chosen her particularly - there was a cruel thoughtfulness in her long brown hair, in her thin, lithe body, in some of the lines and curves of her face. But she was not Aethelflaed and she could bring him no pleasure. 

He had tried to fight it, in the beginning. He had tried to turn her away. But there was something in her eyes, a strange look of sadness or fear that had stirred him in sympathy. She was just a prisoner, same as him. In the end, it was easier to surrender. He let her ride him, even though it left him feeling sick and hollow inside. He told himself it made no difference. Aethelflaed was lost to him. 

There was a disturbance that evening in the yard, Erik noticed. It spilled out into the camps beyond the edge of the fortress walls, where Erik could hear bits of loud conversations and fights breaking out. The sound of screaming horses echoed through the stone halls, drowning against the packed earth floor. Erik noticed it all with passive indifference. When Siegfried came to visit him, he would be angry. Erik was sure of it, but he couldn’t say why. 

He drifted off some time in the darkness, caught outside of the flow and measure of time. His dreams were short and fitful, flashes of pain and pleasure, the shapes and forms always just out of reach. It was always like this, of late. His dreams no longer offered him the comfort and torment of Aethelflaed’s face. But her dreamt of her that night. 

He dreamt that she came to his chamber, that she visited him in his bed. She seemed to appear from nowhere, swimming suddenly before his face with blinding clarity. Her hair was loosely braided, dark strands falling wildly around her face, which was open and flushed. She wore the simple clothes of a servant, but she glowed. She was like a valkyrie, a golden woman, a warrior, a spirit of fire and earth. He was struck by the vision of her, so clear and so close. He was unable to speak and unable to look away. 

She spoke. “Erik.” Her voice was breathless, as if she had been running, and Erik was slightly startled at the strangeness of it. But then she touched him, her hand cupping his face, and he lost himself in the feeling of it.

“Aethelflaed.” His voice vibrated through his chest, hoarse and dry and full of emotion. It was a strange feeling. He never spoke to her, in his dreams. 

“Erik—” She seemed lost for words. Her face was very open, her eyes wide and almost brimming with tears, and he could not help but raise his hands to her face, hoping to hold her, to touch some part of this golden vision before she vanished. He watched his crippled hand move towards her face, and recoiled at the sight of it, dropping his hands to his lap. Her eyes followed his hand, filling with shock and grief.

“Erik! What has happened —?” She reached for his hand and he felt himself begin to shake. This was wrong, it was all wrong. He was never crippled in his dreams of Aethelflaed, but whole and uninjured, his hand strong and intact.

The moment shuddered around him as he closed his eyes, trying to shake the vision, trying to pull away from the dream which was strange and unreal, now unwelcome and unbidden. His vision became very clear, as if he had opened his eyes and found himself in exactly the same place. It was not a dream.

He recoiled in shock, pulling away from her, lifting his head off the bed and curling inwards towards himself. “Aethelflaed.” His voice was little more than a gasp of breath. “What are you doing here?!”

Aethelflaed was tremulous and restrained at his reaction, her face pale and stricken. 

“Erik - I…I have come…to take you from this place. I have come for you, Erik.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Nothing made sense. There was a sick feeling in his throat. “You should not be here, Aethelflaed. This is wrong.” He did not look at her as he spoke. She reached out a hand to touch him again and he pulled away. Her hand dropped and she made a small sound of grief in her throat.

“I am sorry, Erik.” She was tearful now, he was sure of it, although he could not turn himself to look into her face. “I am so sorry. This is all my fault! I should never have sent you away —”

He could not help but look at her now, as he tried to understand what she said, as he tried to make sense of all of it. She thought he was angry at her? He laughed, mirthlessly, and her face twisted with pain. “You were right to send me away. All of this — it is as it should be, Aethelflaed. It was a dream…a foolish dream. A joke to think anything otherwise.”

Aethelflaed was shaking her head, sending loose tears falling into her lap. Her face was streaked and red. “No. You cannot mean that, Erik. You cannot believe —”

“How did you get in here? Where did you come from?” He heard the anger in his voice and saw how she reeled from it. He wished he could change it, he wished he could erase her pain and send her far away from this place, but he could not. 

She stammered as she spoke. “I — I c-came in a secret door. The…the camp women use it…t-to visit the beds of warriors.” 

Erik felt sick. He was standing now, although he could not remember getting up. His face was in his hands, gripping his hair, as he tried to pull himself out of this endlessly painful moment. 

“So you have lowered yourself again, for me. You have humiliated yourself, for my sake. This… I cannot let you do this, Aethelflaed! This is wrong. _We_ are wrong!” 

Aethelflaed was standing as well, facing him with the lines of her body rigid and tense. Her face was still red, but it was anger that rose in her eyes now. She wiped her tears roughly with the back of her hand. 

“What I have done, I have done for the sake of _myself,_ for the sake of _us._ It has been my choice to love you, it has been _my_ choice to come here for you. I am not ashamed of that, Erik!” 

“Do you not see the utter selfishness, Aethelflaed? My selfishness, in thinking I could have you, that _I_ could deserve _you?!_ How can you not see that…here…in the room where I kept you a prisoner? _”_ His disgust at himself was like a physical thing stuck inside his chest. He wanted to tear it out of himself, and did not care what he destroyed in the process. 

Her face was still flushed, but her eyes softened as she approached him, stretching her hands out to touch him again. “Why would I think that, Erik? It was here that I discovered that men could be kind and not cruel, that men could be gentle and caring, that men could listen to me and not punish me for having…thoughts and… dreams, and ideas. How could I not love you for that?”

Erik took her hands and pushed them away from him, lowering them down to rest at her sides before he retreated, backing away from her tender, love-filled face. He did not want to cause her pain, but he could not contain the thing which ate at him anymore.

“I have lain with another, Aethelflaed.” Her face froze, her body folding inward on itself, but she held his gaze. His voice faltered as he spoke. “I…I did not seek it…and I did not want it. But it has happened.” There was a long moment of silence. “So I have betrayed you, Aethelflaed. Do you understand now?” 

Aethelflaed was shaking her head, her eyes narrowed and her face upturned defiantly. “If you did not wish it…Erik, it is not a betrayal. It cannot be. It is…Siegfried, I know it. He wishes to break you, as Aethelred wishes to break me. It is not your fault!” 

But Erik was turning away, his body rigid, his mind unwilling to hear the words Aethelflaed offered, his heart unable to take the hand she offered. 

“Please, Erik. Come with me. We can…we can find a way to make it work, I know it. We can find our way back from this. Erik…” Her voice broke over a sob and it hit Erik like a blow. “I am carrying your child, Erik. Our child.” 

Erik turned to her, shocked and aghast. She looked so small in the dim light, her arms clasped to embrace herself, as if she was trying to hold herself together. The sight of it loosened something in Erik, the hard, painful thing that had become lodged in his heart and throat. It seemed to crack a bit, and he felt an onrush of desperate need and bitter grief. Each emotion seemed to chase the other through his body. 

He walked towards her and touched her shoulder very lightly. She was not trembling, as he had thought. “Aethelflaed…I…” He was lost for words. “Are you certain?” 

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly filled with a fierce and wild hope. “I have not bled this moon. And I am ill most mornings.” She looked away. “No one else knows…I have hidden it, even from myself, I think. But I cannot deny the truth of it any longer.” She reached up to touch his face, very lightly. He tensed but he did not pull away. “I am so sorry, Erik. I am so sorry for this pain you feel. I…I wish none of this had happened to you. But I do not regret loving you. I do not regret this child. I cannot. Come with me, Erik, please. I cannot walk this world without you.”

“Aethelflaed.” His hand had moved to her cheek. They seemed to draw closer together. There was still a world of pain within Erik’s chest. It filled the space between them, like a mass of churning ghosts. He tried to swallow the fear that rose in him, knowing himself unworthy, knowing he had no choice but to try anyway. 

Aethelflaed’s eyes widened and her mouth opened. Her face was colored with shock and fear as she looked at something behind his shoulder. 

“Erik—” she whispered through white lips. 

He heard the voice and turned, his stomach a knot of cold dread. 

“I told you I would kill you if I saw again.” Siegfried stood at the door, his face lost in shadow, his body as tense and sharp as a drawn knife.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: violence, angst, death.
> 
> I decided to post the next chapter a little early, because I left it on so much of a cliff-hanger. Here ya go!

“Siegfried.” Erik’s voice was tense and low. He held his body stiff and tall, blocking the space between Siegfried and Aethelflaed. Aethelflaed was frozen in place, her mind stuck in emptiness, her hands tingling slightly in her fear.

“Princess. I do not remember inviting you back into my hall.” 

“Siegfried.” Aethelflaed heard the plea in Erik’s voice. “Siegfried, please. Do not do this.”

“Step aside, Erik.”

“No.”

“I will kill her quickly, brother. It will be a good death. Or would you rather I make you watch, as every man in my hall takes his turn of her? I told you I could do that, if I wanted.”

“Siegfried —” Aethelflaed could not see Erik’s face. She could only read the tension of his shoulders, the rigid lines of his body as he braced against his brother, physically and mentally. Siegfried’s face was perfectly visible, leering at her through the dimness like a ghastly spectral shade. 

She watched him move, lunging forward as if to push Erik aside, but Erik stood his ground. They grappled for a moment, Siegfried’s arms reaching to grab Erik’s neck, as Erik forced his brother’s chest away. Erik was taller than Siegfried, but Siegfried was stronger.

They broke apart with a shout and the sound of unsheathing iron. Siegfried stood with his blade-hand naked and glinting, and reached for the axe which hung from his belt with the other. Aethelflaed’s mind suddenly sparked with awareness. Her hands leapt quietly to action.

She reached to her lower back, her fingers fumbling against the leather belt and the sheathed seax that hung there, hidden by the folds of her cloak. She had almost forgotten about it in the strife with Erik, even though it had swung and bobbed against her spine, irritating her since she had hidden it there before entering Groa’s tent. She had thought about using it, on the grubby pale faced man who guarded the whore’s door, when he had groped her roughly and said something about “waiting for his turn.” But she had thought better of that. 

Now she unsheathed the blade, hiding the hiss in the sound of her rustling cloak. She touched Erik’s back lightly and watched him flinch, and wondered, even in her fear, if he could no longer stand her touch. The thought ached low in her gut.

“Erik—” It was little more than a breath, a whisper, spoken as she held the hilt of the blade against his side, close to where his right hand hung, still half tensed. He took it, as quickly and quietly as a shifting shadow and raised it to face Siegfried.

All of this happened in the space of a few breaths, and now Siegfried’s eyes widened at the sight of Bright-Blood, his own family’s blade wielded against him. He took a step forward, his face fierce and vengeful.

“You fight me, Erik. You try to fight me, you think you hate me. But _you_ did this, Erik. This is your fault.”

Something erupted within Erik. He took his own step closer to Siegfried. Aethelflaed’s heart thumped painfully in her chest.

“No, Siegfried. _YOU_ did this _._ You knew I cared for her, and you took her from me.” His voice was very ragged. Aethelflaed both wished she could see his face, and was grateful that she could not. “You could have let me have her, and I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. We could have found another way, without the ransom. But you took her from me. You humiliated her, you humiliated me. _You sent your men to kill me._ You did this, Siegried. You destroyed everything we had. Not me.” 

Siegfried’s face was filled with some emotion that Aethelflaed could not read - anger, and violence, yes - but also something more. It might have been grief. Aethelflaed tried to see the boy Siegfried once had been - the man he might have become, the brother that Erik had known and loved. Funny and clever, full of mischief and wickedness, and loyalty too, quick to anger and quick to ease. A man that Aethelflaed might have called brother, in another life. 

But Siegfried was not that man, not any longer, or perhaps he never had been. He lunged for Erik, his face now full of bitterness, and the sound of clashing blades bit into the air. Siegfried wielded two weapons against Erik’s single seax, crossing them to parry Erik’s strikes and throw them back at him. Aethelflaed was pressed against the wall, the breath missing from her chest. Erik and Siegfried seemed to move both quickly and slowly at the same time. It made Aethelflaed dizzy. Everything hung in the balance of their blades against each other. She watched mutely as her life was won, or her death decided.

Erik was tiring against Siegfried’s double attack. She watched as Erik’s blade slipped from its mark, as he swung and was stopped by Siegfried’s fist, leaving his side exposed. She thought she could see it - Siegfried’s blade driven into his heart, robbing him of life, robbing her of hope. 

But no! Erik dodged the strike, turning away from Siegfried deftly and swinging back around to beat his brother across the face, using his mutilated hand like a blunt club. Siegfried yelled and staggered back, but recovered quickly, swinging again with his blade and his axe to cut across Erik’s face. But Erik blocked Siegfried’s wrists, holding back the blow that would take his life. He struck Siegfried’s forehead with his own, sending him reeling again.

Blood pooled from Siegfried’s forehead into his eyes. He spat red, splattering Erik’s hands and the floor. He was breathless and full of rage.

“She is a woman, Erik. A fucking woman. A Saxon whore. Let this go.” 

Aethelflaed had edged into the corner, where she stood in shadow, taking in both men’s faces as they stared at each other, as if facing each other across an ocean of pain and betrayal. Erik’s face was etched with grief, his body slumped as if in defeat. But when he spoke, his voice was clear and low. 

“No, Siegfried. I cannot let her go. I will not.” 

Siegfried’s face twisted and he lunged again, but it was in wild rage, without care or consideration. Erik blocked the blow and plunged upwards with the seax, driving the blade into Siegfried’s chest. 

Siegfried’s eyes were wide, his mouth open and still red with his blood. He slumped, slowly at first, dropping his axe. Erik caught him and lowered him to the ground, where he groaned wordlessly. He placed the axe back into his brother’s hand, closing his fingers around the handle. 

Aethelflaed watched silently, feeling very far from the room. She felt like an intruder on Erik’s private pain, and wanted to close her eyes or turn away. But she did not. 

“Go to Valhalla, Siegfried.” Erik spoke softly. There were tears in his voice, but Aethelflaed could see no wetness on Erik’s face. “Go to Valhalla, and I will meet you there someday, and all of this will be long in the past. We will be brothers again. I will meet you there, Siegfried. I am sorry.” 

Siegfried was dead, and Erik’s blade rested in his chest, and there was nothing more to say. 

Her hand was on his arm, trying to pull him away, but he was rooted to the spot where he crouched over Siegfried’s blood-soaked body. She was speaking to him, low and urgently, but there was nothing but a dim hum in his ears. Erik’s mouth was dry, his eyes fixed on Siegfried’s frozen face. His brother’s eyes were half closed and unseeing, his lips still spattered with blood. Erik’s hands were numb. 

“Erik.” Her voice sounded far away, like an echo in a dream. She was shaking him gently, he realized. “We must go.” He turned to look at her. He felt like he was caught in amber. “I am sorry, I am so sorry. But we must leave him. Erik.”

The stuck moment passed. Aethelflaed came into focus, her face pale in front of him. He could hear her breathing, fast and shallow, and the dripping of Siegfried’s blood into a puddle on the hard packed earth floor. His hands were shaking, he realized. Aethelflaed took them and held them tenderly in her own. 

“Erik?” 

Erik closed his eyes for a long moment, wishing with a great part of his being that the world around him would vanish and never return. He wished he could ease into the darkness behind his eyelids and never emerge. Then he would never have to face the truth of it. 

He had killed his own brother. 

But Aethelflaed’s hands were very warm and soft against his own. Her breathing still echoed in his ears. When he opened his eyes, he would see her face, her wide eyes, her soft mouth. When he opened his eyes, he would still be the father of the child she carried. His life would still belong to her. 

He opened his eyes. 

“You are right. We must go.” His voice sounded different to his own ear, although he could not say why. Aethelflaed made a small sound of relief, and stood up. Erik clambered up awkwardly beside her and their hands fell apart. He looked back to his brother’s corpse. Siegfried seemed paler, although perhaps it was just Erik’s imagination. Erik had killed many men in his life, but none of it had prepared him for this. He stared at his brother’s face as he pulled the blade from Siegfried’s chest. 

“He is in Valhalla.” Aethelflaed spoke gently beside him. Erik turned, shrugging and cringing as if trying to push her words away from him. He did not resent her attempt to comfort him. But still her words chafed at him. He could not hear them without feeling a deep ache.

“Can we get out? By the same door you used to get in?” He looked at a point somewhere past her shoulder as he spoke. She did not seem to notice. Her face opened and eased, sparked with the need for a plan. 

“Yes, I think so,” she said breathily. “We may have to kill the guard.” 

Erik nodded, unfeeling. “And then?”

“Audr is waiting for us in the woods. Birger and the Mercian guard have already left on horseback. They were chased off by Siegfried’s men.” 

“So we will have to go on foot?” Erik’s voice was harsh, and he regretted it, but he could not do anything to change it. Aethelflaed’s face fell a bit. 

“Yes, I suppose so. We…didn’t have time for…a better plan.” 

Erik stood for a moment, rubbing his face with his good hand. Aethelflaed was still and quiet. Without a word, Erik starting striding out of the room, door the corridor and towards the yard. Aethelflaed trotted after him, slightly dazed. 

“You are angry with me,” she said, and he heard a quiver of pain in her voice. He wished he could ease her, he wished he could give her what she wanted, but he had nothing to give. He was empty and raw inside. 

He stopped and spoke as gently as he could. It came out sounding dead and cold. “No, Aethelflaed. I am not angry. Show me to the door. Please.” 

She bit her lip and looked at him, searching his face with wide and nervous eyes. After a moment, her eyes shuttered and she turned away.

“It’s through the kitchens.” 

They moved together in silence, stealing around the shadowed edges of the yard and through the back corridor that linked the rambling rooms and pavilions that made up the kitchens. There was a small, half sized door carved into the packed earth of the barricade, arched with narrow stones and held with thick wooden hinges. Erik was slightly aghast that he had never known of it, in spite of all his time as a lord of the fortress. He wondered if Siegfried had known, and realized that he must have. He remembered that Siegfried was dead, that he himself had killed him. The realization kept coming over and over, like turning a corner again and again to find himself trapped in the same place, lost and alone. 

There was no guard at the whore’s door, to Aethelflaed shock and dismay. “I had hoped to kill him,” she said fervently. Erik’s mind pulsed, realizing that the guard must have done something foul to her, to warrant such a response. He might have raged once, at the realization, or laughed in surprise at her recklessness. But the feelings were choked in his throat. All he could do was squeeze her arm gently, in reassurance. He had no cloak to cover his face, but he reached towards her and pulled her hood up over her head. His hands twitched for a moment on the fabric as she looked at him, then fell to his sides. 

“We’ll head for the woods?” He asked. Aethelflaed nodded, but then her eyes became wide and her vision fixed, as if with dawning realization. Erik froze, wondering if another danger lurked behind him. 

“The ransom —!” She murmured the words with a low moan. “All the wealth of Wessex and Mercia - it is here, in the fortress! And I am walking away from it!”

Erik swallowed and looked away. “No, it isn’t.” 

“What do you mean? He hasn’t spent it all already?” 

Erik sighed and closed his eyes, wincing slightly. “No. Some is gone. But some remains. It isn’t in the fortress.” 

Aethelflaed’s cheeks were flushed, her frustration rising. “What are you saying?”

“There is a chest of silver, on a boat in the harbor. A small boat - small enough for one or two men to crew alone. It is guarded by two Danes, but they do not know what they guard. Only that it is dear to the Lord Siegfried and they must defend it with their lives.”

Aethelflaed’s eyes were wide and bright. “He told you this? All of this?” Erik nodded stiffly. “Why?” Her voice was thick with confusion. 

“I don’t know.” Erik’s own voice broke slightly over the words. It was not true, not really, but it was easier to say that he didn’t know, easier than saying that he did know but could not explain it - that unspoken bond of blood that endured beyond betrayal. Siegfried had never fully trusted the men who surrounded him in Beamfleot. He had given himself a way out. The only person he told was Erik. 

“You are saying…that there is a boat, that we could crew out of here…with the rest of the ransom? At only the cost of…a few lives? It is too easy. I do not believe it.” 

Erik did laugh then, dryly and without humor. “We do have to get there.” 

Aethelflaed looked at him darkly and opened the door out of the fortress. They walked out together, into the Western camp. 

It was easy, if easy was a word that applied to them anymore. The camp was mostly asleep, the long stretch of open range that reached to the docks unguarded. Thorulf and his men had not yet returned from chasing the Mercians out of Siegfried’s realm. Would they find his corpse when they returned? Or would another find him - a whore, or a servant, or a slave? What would they think, when they saw his cold face? Would they be happy? Or would they grieve for him? 

The fortress would descend into chaos, Erik was certain. Men would clamber over each other, vying desperately to take Siegfried’s place. Packs of Danish wolves would be loosed like Fenrir on the countryside, unfettered by Siegfried’s iron will. Another warlord would emerge in Beamfleot, but he would not have Siegfried’s silver. East Anglia would continue to eat itself. 

And no one would tell the story of the two figures who stole down to the docks in the hours after midnight, nearly invisible in the low light of the dying moon. They would not speak of the guardsmen who fell, their throats cut and their spears clattering against the wet wooden boards. They would not know of the girl who met them from the woods, and of the long thin ash poles they scavenged to push the little boat away from the river’s shore and nudge it out of the small harbor. No one would remember any of it.

And so, like ghosts on the water, they slipped away from Beamfleot and drifted into the night. 


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry my posting schedule got a little off! here's the next chapter!

They landed in Coccham a week later. Aethelflaed thought she had never been so glad to walk on dry land, after six nights drifting over the cold spring waters of the Thames, the air thick with dampness, the mood thoroughly sour. 

Gisula met them at the docks. Her face was surprised and confused as she took in Aethelflaed, pale and weak from several days of vomiting, and Erik, sullen and silent behind her. Only Audr was able to affect a cheerful mood as she greeted Uhtred’s wife. Aethelflaed was very grateful for her. 

“Lady Aethelflaed? What has happened? Are you unwell?” Gisula rushed forward to help Aethelflaed clamber from the bobbing boat. Erik put a steadying hand on her shoulder, but they did not share a glance. 

“I am well enough, Lady Gisula. I am sorry to put upon you like this.” 

“I am not put upon!” Gisula chided. Erik was helping Audr from the boat before lifting himself onto the docks. Gisula nodded at him awkwardly. “I am only concerned for you.” She turned to Erik again, her face tense. “You are the Lord Erik.” 

“Yes.” 

“We have met before.” 

“Yes…I suppose we have.” Aethelflaed looked between the two of them, wondering what history lay there. She would have to ask Gisula. Erik spoke little these days.

Gisula let out a breath. “Uhtred has told me all. Your secret is safe with me.” 

Aethelflaed smiled genuinely, although something painful tugged at her heart as well. She pushed it away. “Thank you, Gisula. I think…we could use a warm meal and perhaps, some rest. Our travel has not been smooth.” Aethelflaed held her stomach as she spoke, without thinking. Gisula noticed, and her eyes drifted from Aethelflaed’s hand to her pale and drawn face. There was a knowing look in her eye. 

“Indeed. Come with me. Uhtred is away, but he should be back any day now. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need.” 

When Aethelflaed was fed and rested, she told Gisula about the Mercian party. “They are riding from East Anglia,” she explained. “They cannot be far behind us, but I am sure they will head for Mercia. I would rejoin them before heading North myself.” 

Gisula nodded, her face drawn in thought. “I will send a scouting party Northeast to track them. They will find your men, and bring them here.” 

Aethelflaed’s eyes must have widened at Gisula’s confidence. Gisula’s face crooked with humor. “Who do you think commands the men of Coccham when Uhtred is away?” 

Aethelflaed laughed. “I do not doubt that you have Coccham firm in hand, Lady Gisula.” 

Gisula laughed with her, but her face fell slightly as she looked at Erik, silent in the corner of the hall, sharpening Bright Blood on a damp stone. The sound of it grated in the air. 

“Is everything well? Truly?” She asked in a low voice. Her eyes said more than her words could. Aethelflaed looked away. 

“Siegfried is dead,” she said simply. “Erik was his prisoner.” 

Gisula bit her lip. “I see.” There was a long pause. “And what do you plan, when you head North to Mercia?” 

Aethelflaed sighed. “War against Aethelred. It is inevitable.” Gisula looked worried. Aethelflaed continued. “Siegfried’s army will fracture. But the raiders will still come. It will be a bad season, I am certain. You should ensure that the burh is strong.” 

Gisula smiled, but the worry did not ease in her eyes. “The burh is always strong.” She looked back at Erik for a long moment, and spoke again. “Uhtred will be back soon. He will want to hear of this.” _If you wish to wait for him._ That was the unspoken part, but Aethelflaed heard it nonetheless. 

“I will wait for Uhtred,” she assured. Gisula smiled. 

There had been no intimacy between Erik and Aethelflaed on the journey, just a stiff, cold silence broken only by necessity. Erik sat watch each night as Aethelflaed and Audr slept fitfully on the deck, and took only a few hours of rest in the morning or middle of the day. Often the boat lay floundered against the shoreline as he rested, since neither Audr nor Aethelflaed had the skills to crew it. They hid themselves away in small coves and outlets, at times when Erik thought that raiders might be plowing up and down the river. But they saw no Danes, to Aetheflaed’s surprise - only traders and merchants who would wave warily at their strange crew as they passed. 

Trapped on the boat, there had been no chance for Erik and Aethelflaed to speak in privacy, to try to work out why this intractable iciness bloomed between them, or what to do about it. Audr tried to be cheerful, to make small conversations and break the tension. But Erik would only respond with one-word answers until the conversation died. Still, Audr tended Erik’s hand with the mysterious bundles of herbs and pots of salve that seemed to be always stashed in the pouches of her hips. The wound had healed over, but it had not been tended well, and it still caused him pain. Aethelflaed knew. She tried to tell herself it was the pain that fueled Erik’s curtness, but she knew it was not simply so. Aethelflaed felt terribly awkward about it all, for Audr’s sake and for her own, but she had no idea how to change it.

So it was a relief to be in Coccham, and a relief when the Mercians returned a few days later with Gisula’s scouts. Aethelflaed had been dodging Gisula’s burning stares, the way she watched, with a worried expression, as Erik and Aethelflaed continued to avoid each other’s gaze. Gisula had even confronted Aethelflaed, the night before the Mercians’ return, to Aethelflaed’s surprise and shame. 

“You are with child.” It was not a question. Aethelflaed startled. Gisula had followed her into the small chamber she slept in, and Aethelflaed moved quickly to shut the wooden door. “No one is listening,” Gisula said impatiently. “It is true, yes?” 

Aethelflaed sighed and lowered herself on to her bed. “Yes.” Gisula had offered their party the small private room, and space on the benches in her hall for whoever needed it. Aethelflaed had slept the first night alone, thinking with nervous hope that Erik might have come to her bed. But he must have found his rest in the hall. He did not come, and since that night, Aethelflaed had shared the soft bed with Audr, to the girl’s delight. She was alone in the chamber with Gisula now.

“Yes,” she admitted, finally. 

“And the father?” 

Aethelflaed bristled slightly at Gisula’s tense tone, but she eased after a moment. She knew Gisula acted in love. “Erik,” she said softly. “Erik is the father.” 

Gisula let out her own breath and sat gingerly beside Aethelflaed on the bed. 

“So you will defeat Aethelred, and then…you will be married? You and Erik?” 

Aethelflaed rubbed her face, but then nodded, trying to look confident. “Yes. That is the plan.” 

Gisula’s face held a question. She paused for a moment, as if doubting whether she should speak. “Is that Erik’s plan?” 

Aethelflaed looked at her sharply, and Gisula’s eyes creased with regret. “It is only,” she continued. “I have not seen him speak to you since you arrived.” 

Aethelflaed looked away, blinking rapidly to hide her distress. She was sure that Gisula saw through it nonetheless. “He has suffered. Greatly.” There was a desperate, pleading tone to her own voice that made her wince internally. “He is still recovering.” 

Gisula nodded in sympathy, although her eyes were still concerned. “I understand.”

Aethelflaed wished that she could understand. She wished that she could understand what went through Erik’s mind, what pain flashed behind his eyes and in his chest. She wished she could understand why it was that Birger made him smile, when he returned with the Mercian guard. Why was it that Erik could clap his friend on the back and greet him with true pleasure, but he could not even look her in the eye? It made her want to scream and throw something at him. But she quelled that urge, thanks be to God.

She was glad to see the guard returned safely, at only the loss of a couple horses. Birger surprised her by hugging her fully, his face flushed with relief, and then apologizing profusely for his transgression. 

“I beg your pardon, Lady, truly, but I am just…so glad that you are safe!” 

Aethelflaed laughed genuinely. “It is forgiven, Birger. I am glad to see you as well.” 

Clufweart was not so bold, but she bounced up to Aethelflead, still wearing Aethelflaed’s own fine blue cloak. It was torn at one corner, and much more soiled than it had been the last she had seen it. 

“Was that a worthy adventure for you, Clufweart?” 

Clufweart beamed up at her, her round, pretty face shining. “Yes, Lady! Very much so.” She looked down, suddenly sheepish. “I am sorry, about the cloak.”

Aethelflaed laughed again. “It’s alright, Clufweart. It is only a cloak. You did well, I am certain.” 

“It was strange to be the Lady of Mercia, if only in pretend,” Clufweart said, speaking in her usual fast, breathless way. 

“I can imagine. I find it strange myself, most days.” Clufweart startled a bit and then laughed, grateful for Aethelflaed’s graciousness. Aethelflaed saw Clufweart’s eyes dart towards Erik questioningly, where he stood with Birger. “That is the Lord Erik,” she explained. “He will be with us from now on.” Clufweart nodded. Aethelflaed thought for a moment, then added: “Try not to bother him, if you can.” 

“Yes, Lady. Of course.” 

Erik’s eyes lifted to her face as she spoke, as if he knew she was speaking of him, even though he could surely not hear her low voice across the hall. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Aethelflaed felt it was the most she’d seen of his face in days. After a breath, his eyes dropped, and the moment passed. 

Uhtred returned the day after the Mercians. He greeted Erik in the hall, where he sat a few benches away from Aethelflaed. Erik was slightly startled by Uhtred’s good mood and his bright and cheerful face.

“You are here!” Uhtred announced with excitement. “Both of you! Alive and well. And Siegfried is dead, I have heard from Gisula. There is much to celebrate!” 

Uhtred looked between Erik and Aethelflaed for a moment, confusion dawning on his face. “What is wrong?” He asked suddenly. “Has something gone awry?” 

“No,” Erik said quickly. “All is well.” He looked at Aethelflaed and could tell she was embarrassed. He felt embarrassed himself. The hall had become very crowded, with Uhtred’s men and Aethelflaed’s. He wished there were fewer eyes on him. 

“It is good to see you Uhtred,” Aethelflaed said earnestly. 

Uhtred’s eyes were still wary. “I am glad to see you both well,” he said. “But your men are eating the last of my winter stores!” His tone was chiding, but there was laughter in his face. “I must go hunting. You will come with me, Erik.” It was not a question. 

“Something has happened.” Uhtred and Erik rode abreast across a wide low plain to the woods that served as Uhtred’s hunting grounds. Finan and Sihtric, and a younger man who Erik did not know rode ahead, and the sound of their voices chiding each other carried across the distance. Erik had known Uhtred would try to force him into conversation. His stomach still tensed at the man’s words. “Gisula tells me you are not speaking to Aethelflaed. What has she done?” 

Erik bristled. “Nothing! I…I am not _not_ speaking to her,” he explained, lamely. “I just…find I do not have much to say.” 

“And Aethelflaed…she has nothing to say to you? Not that she is…carrying your child, perhaps?” Uhtred’s tone was thick with reprimand. Erik’s jaw worked tensely at the challenge. 

His voice was low and dark when he spoke. “I do not know, Uhtred. If she has more to say, she has not said it.” 

“You blame her, for Siegfried’s death,” Uhtred suggested. Erik wanted to turn his horse and ride as far as possible in the other direction. Instead he only grunted weakly. 

“No. I killed Siegfried. I would do it again if I had to. It was not her fault.” 

Uhtred looked at Erik’s face for a moment, then spurred his horse forward. Erik mimicked him, although he would have rather fallen behind. 

“Then you are still angry…about the fight? The falling out you had?” 

Erik scoffed. He had not thought of the fight in weeks. He could not even remember what it had been about. “How did you know about that?” 

“Aethelflaed told me. She was grieved over it, Erik. She thought she had lost you. I told you that she could never lose you. I wish I had not spoken falsely.” 

Erik scowled. “I wish it was as simple as you seem to think it is.” 

“And I wish you were not a fool and a coward, Erik Thurgilson.” Erik stopped his horse and looked at Uhtred, his face fierce, his body rigid in response to the slight. Uhtred’s face held no apology. He continued. “She rode to Beamfleot for you, Erik. She faced Siegfried… _for you_. I would never have condoned such a plan, but she did not ask my opinion. She simply acted, for the sake of _your life_. And now you will not even speak to her?” 

Erik looked away and said nothing. Uhtred stared at him, his eyes hard and thoughtful. “You wish she had not.” His voice was gentler now, thick with realization. It was even more unbearable to hear. “You wish she had left you there.” 

Erik turned to face him. His voice was savage when he spoke. “Will you listen to yourself, Uhtred? You speak the truth and do not even realize it. Do you not see…what a joke it is…” He struggled to find words and felt ashamed. “I do not deserve what she has done for me. I do not deserve her faith, or her trust, or her love. The fact that I still have it at all is a slight to us both.” Erik exhaled. He had spoken it, as close to the truth of it as he could. It was a relief in a way, but still, he could not meet Uhtred’s eye. 

Uhtred was silent for a long time, and then he laughed, loud and low. Erik’s face reddened. “Do you think you are helping, Uhtred?” 

“Yes!” Uhtred laughed again. “I do!” His smugness chafed at Erik. It was always his least favorite thing about the man. “It is you who should listen to yourself, Erik. Then you will hear what foolishness you spew.” 

“You think I am worthy of her?” Erik asked, still flustered. 

Uhtred appraised him silently. “No. Certainly not.” He laughed again, gently. “No one is. That’s the point, is it not? You think you can tell her what she should feel. You think you can tell her who she should love. Has that ever worked for you in the past?” Uhtred spurred his horse forward again, leaving Erik behind. Laughter echoed in his wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t really know this whole “Uhtred and Gisula give Erik and Aethelflaed relationship counseling” thing was coming, but I’m pleasantly surprised by it. What did you think? It was fun trying to translate Uhtred and Gisula to the page (I’ve done Uhtred before but I think this might be my most successful rendering yet). 
> 
> Throughout all this writing, Erik and Aethelflaed have definitely morphed into their own kind of thing for me. As in: I definitely don’t picture the actors who played them when I write Erik and Aethelflaed. Their mannerisms, physical attributes, and even some of their personality traits are a little different. But I imagine Uhtred and Gisula exactly as if they walked right off the screen. 
> 
> How do you imagine the characters? Have they taken on their own unique qualities? Or do they look the same in your mind’s eye as they did in the show?


	47. Chapter 47

Erik returned from the hunt feeling better than he had in weeks. Although the conversation with Uhtred had caused him some shame, it had also purged some of the helpless rage and self loathing that had dogged him from Beomfleot. In the heat of the hunt, when he let his thoughts leave him and found only the rhythm of his heart and his breath, he had felt some kind of peace. 

They were successful, and returned to Coccham with a stag deer to feast in celebration of the many friends safely returned. Erik entered the hall, his face flushed from the cool air, and saw Aethelflaed spinning sullenly in the corner with Audr and Gisula and one of Gisula’s women who he did not know. They were talking amongst themselves, their voices low and their heads leaned in towards each other. Erik wondered with a slight pang whether they were speaking of him, and if they were, what it was that Aethelflaed said of him. Was she angry? Hurt? Frustrated? He could only guess. 

There was a lightness in his step and a slight giddiness in his stomach as he approached her. He tried not to think of Uhtred watching him smugly as he walked. Aethelflaed’s face turned up, and she startled at the sight of him striding across the room towards her. He looked down, fidgeting with the twisted antler that rested in his hands. 

“I found this in the forest,” he said, hoping he did not look as awkward as he suddenly felt. “I think it was shed by a buck earlier this year. I thought it might…please you, Lady.” Aethelflaed seemed lost for words, but she looked at the beautiful piece of horn, smooth and shining gray-gold in the light. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. 

“It does, thank you.” She reached to take the antler and caught his eye. She smiled, and he felt his own face open and ease, against all odds. She blushed at the sight of it, and bit her lip and looked away. Erik’s throat felt dry. He became painfully aware of Gisula and Audr staring at them both with meaningful looks. Erik nodded stiffly and retreated, but the sight of her blushing face followed him throughout the day. 

He did not go to her bed that night, although there was part of him that wished to. He did not want to break the peace she found there with Audr, and he still did not know what he would say. He wished he could lie with her without speaking, letting his body say all that he could not with his words. But it was a cruel and selfish thought, he told himself. She deserved his words. She deserved an explanation for all the sullen silence he had put her through. If only he could have explained it fully to himself. 

But he spoke to her again the next day, in the hall after their morning meal. She had been discussing travel plans with Birger, her face alert but her eyes hooded with weariness. He wondered if she had been sick that morning and remembered with the ache the truth of the child she carried. _His_ _child._ The thought of it pressed like a hand on his heart. 

“We should return to Mercia…as soon as possible,” he offered, his voice tentative. “If you hold Oxenford as Birger tells me, we could gather our strength there before meeting Aethelred on the field.” 

Aethelflaed nodded vaguely. “That is what I was thinking.” He could not tell if there was anger or frustration in her voice. He wondered if he had spoken out of place. 

“It has been pleasant here at Coccham,” he said, trying to ease the tension. “It will be hard to leave.” 

Aethelflaed nodded again, without speaking, then turned to stare into his face. Her eyes were wide and slightly anxious. “Has…something changed?” She asked, in a small, low voice. “I do not understand.” 

He wanted to reach out and touch her, but felt self-conscious. “I…I am feeling more myself, that is all,” he said after a moment. 

She looked away, but he noticed a smile playing on her lips. “I am glad,” she said quietly. 

“I am sorry, Lady,” Uhtred said. They were at the docks, watching Uhtred’s children play in the shallows of the riverbank while he retied the knots on a woven rope fishing net. “I tried to find you. But by the time I got to Bedaford, you were already gone.” Aethelflaed was confused, and she puzzled over Uhtred’s words for a long moment before remembering - he had promised to come to Bedaford, to help her find Erik. She had forgotten, and admitted as much to him now. 

“The whole ordeal has become a bit of a blur, to be honest.”

Uhtred nodded sympathetically. “It seems you were able to meet the challenge well, without my help.” 

Aethelflaed looked away. “I’m not certain about that.” 

“What concerns you, Lady?” 

She laughed, in a self-deprecating sort of way. “Everything, I suppose. Siegfried is dead, but I still must face Aethelred, and…my father…” she drifted off, feeling the anxious thoughts that had dogged her for weeks return. “I can only imagine what stories his spies bring to him as we speak.” 

Uhtred chuckled under his breath. “Alfred does not have spies in Beomfleot, to his detriment, and your benefit.” 

“But he must know that Aethelred and I are at war. I sent his own spy back to him with the news, after Aethelred drove me from Aegelsburgh. He will find some way to blame me for it, I am certain.” 

“Your father loves you, Aethelflaed.” 

Aethelflaed felt her anger sear and steam, like water on hot coals. “Perhaps. But he does not _see_ me, Uhtred. He wishes to preserve my honor, but only for his own gain! As soon as I try to speak to him, of myself, of my life…it is as if I am mute. He cannot hear me, he can only chastise me. Now…I am betting the lives of the people of Mercia on the fact that he will not…force me to a nunnery, or…dock my ears for adultery if he learns the truth.”

Uhtred’s face was full of kindness, but when he spoke, his voice was distant. “It is what you were raised for, Aethelflaed. To be a peaceweaver, not a war leader. You cannot blame him for the fact that you are a woman.”

Aethelflaed felt like she had been slapped. “Are you trying to be cruel, Uhtred?” 

“I am trying to be honest, Lady.” She noticed that his eyes drifted over his daughter, Stiorra, where she played in the shallows with her brother. She wondered if he thought of her fate as he spoke. Would he sell her to a cruel and heartless man for the sake of an alliance? Somehow, Aethelflaed was certain he would not. 

“Apparently, I can blame no one for the fact that I am a woman, only myself — or God, perhaps.” Her voice was thick with bitter irony. “And yet, it is always the men in my life that tell me what I must do and who I must be. Can I not blame them for that?” Uhtred looked away, a wry expression on his face. “To be a woman is to be owned, Uhtred,” she said. “I do not think you can truly understand what that feels like.” 

Uhtred looked back at her, his eyes narrowed and questioning. “What about Erik? Does he wish to own you?” 

Aethelflaed’s jaw clenched at the question. There was a fluttering feeling in her chest, as if a small bird was trapped within her rib cage. Was it the thought of Erik’s face, smiling at her earlier that day, which had filled her with a driving, ripping need? Or was it the thought of the quarrel, the one that had driven them apart? She had forgotten most of the details of it, but sometimes the thought of it still haunted the edge of her awareness, like a ghost in the shadows. 

Did Erik wish to own her? 

“I…I do not know,” she answered finally, honestly. She looked at Uhtred, searching his face, something unformed on the tip of her tongue. She could not say why, but she felt frustrated with Uhtred’s question. The bitterness rose up in her again. “Does it matter what he wishes? The result is the same.” 

Uhtred’s smiled wryly, which only served to annoy her more. “Is that why you are not speaking to him?” 

“It is Erik who is not speaking to me,” she said stiffly. 

“Perhaps he has the same fear.” 

Aethelflaed scoffed. “What? That he will be owned by the woman he loves? Somehow, I doubt it. It is not the same.” 

“He thinks he is unworthy of you, Aethelflaed. He thinks that he shames you, with his to claim to you. Perhaps it is not so different.” 

Aethelflaed was lost for words. She looked at Uhtred and then down at her hands, her mind reeling. She shook her head lightly, trying push away the conversation, then changed the subject swiftly. 

“What should I do, Uhtred?” 

“About Erik?” There was humor in his voice. It made her bristle slightly. 

“No,” she said tersely. “About Aethlred, and my father. Do you think he will ever come to my side of things?” 

Uhtred looked out at the water, where the sun danced on the surface. Stiorra splashed her brother, and the light caught the falling droplets, making them shimmer like tiny gems. 

“I don’t know,” Uhtred admitted. “I think the only thing you can do is defeat Aethelred on your own terms. Prove yourself. Give Alfred no other option. He will see sense in the end, I think.” 

Aethelflaed nodded. She had come to the same inevitable conclusion, but it was nice to hear Uhtred agree. 

“And you?” She asked meaningfully. “What will you do?” 

Uhtred’s eyebrows raised. “What would you have me do, Lady? I am sworn to you as well as your father.” 

Aethelflaed nodded again, suddenly feeling the weight of his loyalty on her heart. It was not a small thing for him, she knew. 

“Stay here,” she said. “At Coccham. With Gisula and your children. I will send word if you are needed in Mercia.” It was Uhtred’s turn to nod. “And if my father marches North with an army to stop me…” 

Uhtred smiled thinly. “I will try to warn you, Lady.” 

“Thank you.” They lapsed into silence, listening to the sound of the children’s laughter. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long one. things are finally starting to move again in their relationship! ;) 
> 
> on an entirely unrelated note -   
> cw: graphic descriptions of sex/ smut, reference to trauma in a sexual context, light sub/dom dynamics (gentle dom)

They left for Mercia the next day. It _was_ hard to leave, to say goodbye to the comfort of Coccham and turn back to a hard road of travel. But there was a relief to it as well, to be on the move again, with purpose and intention. Gisula chastised Aethelflaed gently before she left, as Aethelflaed was giving her gratitude for the hospitality. 

“You cannot go to battle like this, Lady!” She said in a tense, low voice, gesturing at Aethelflaed’s stomach. Aethelflaed’s eyes flitted unwilling to Erik, who was locked in a quiet conversation with Uhtred. 

“It will be fine,” she assured. “It is still early, the babe will not come for many months, I am certain.” 

“All the more reason to be careful!” Gisula hissed. “Anything could happen - to you, to the babe. What would Mercia do then?” 

Aethelflaed pulled away from Gisula, wanting to push away the conversation and the fears that it wrought. “I thank you for your counsel, and your hospitality, Lady Gisula. I will not forget it.” 

And Gisula had nodded demurely, but her worried eyes followed Aethelflaed as she left. 

They crossed the border into Mercia and rested the night outside of Watelintone. It was a fine settlement, with several large dwellings and large herds of sheep dotting the meadows around the village. The local thegn was not present - he had likely been called to Oxenford by Edgar, and Aethelflaed did not grieve the fact too greatly. She did not mind sleeping rough outside the village. They would only stop for one night, and the sky looked dry enough, so most of the men did not set up their tents, preferring to sleep instead around the fires on springy beds of meadow grass and pine boughs. But Birger insisted that Aethelflaed’s tent be raised as a matter of honor. Aethelflaed would have protested, but a few other tents popped up along the outskirts of the camp, raised by men well-minded to their comforts, and she felt less embarrassed. 

She found Clufweart after dark, sitting around a fire with several men, laughing loudly and toasting with a large horn mug of ale. 

“Clufweart,” she declared commandingly. Clufweart turned to look at her rather sheepishly. “You should rest in my tent tonight.”

“I do not mind sleeping out in the air, Lady! I am used to sleeping rough.” 

“I do not doubt it,” Aethelflaed said. “But I regret enough that you were forced to travel alone with my men for a week. I intend to amend the situation now.” 

Clufweart’s eyes widened. “There was no slight to my honor, Lady! I promise.” 

“I am certain there was not. My men know the penalty for rape, in my service.” Clufweart’s face was ashen. She looked rather embarrassed for the men she shared her fire with. Aethelflaed smiled at them, as though giving assurance that _they_ were not the kind of men she spoke of. “But regardless,” she continued to Clufweart. “I insist.” 

Clufweart heard the command in her voice. She looked around miserably for a moment, then drained her ale horn and followed Aethelflaed’s order. 

Clufweart vanished, hopefully to find her rest in Aethelflaed’s tent, but Aethelflaed herself stayed out in the camp for a while longer. She told herself she was making sure of the men’s safety and well being, and checking on the soberness of the scouts. But in truth, she sought Erik’s face among the flickering fires. They had ridden most of the day without speaking, only exchanging polite formalities when necessary. And yet, she had been painfully aware of his position in the column, whether he was behind her or in front, or which side he rode on. It seemed that she could feel him wherever he was, like the warmth of the sun on her back. She wondered if it was the same for him. 

Her feelings towards him had been in riotous tumult for days, ranging from anger and frustration, to bitterness and hurt, to need and desperate longing. She tried hard to think of his pain, and push her own aside in favor of empathy, but there was still a cold ember of grief that glowed inside of her each time he seemed unable to meet her eye. Uhtred’s words still echoed in her mind - _Does he wish to own you_? - alongside her own conflicted thoughts. But behind it all there dwelt the urgent need to be close to him, to be rejoined with him, to feel the distance wane between them and know the comfort of his tenderness again. 

As if her mind were a beacon and Erik a moth, he found her in the night. She startled a bit, at the sight of him looming out of the darkness, tall and pale. But at the sight of his face, her panic calmed and her awareness settled in her stomach. It curled up on itself in anticipation.

“Lady! I —” he seemed as startled as she was, and as shyly pleased. “I have been searching for you.” 

“We must have missed each other.” 

He smiled, and she felt her heart race. “I—,” he looked awkward and uncertain for a moment, then a string of words tumbled out of his mouth with one rushed breath. “Would you wish me…to come to your tent tonight, Lady?” 

Aethelflaed swallowed, feeling a searing flash of lust rake through her body. But then her heart fell. “I…you cannot,” she said regretfully. “I have insisted Audr and Clufweart sleep there with me.”

Erik’s face fell but he tried to cover it, smily thinly and nodding. “Of course, I understand, I am sorry…” Aethelflaed opened her mouth to speak but found her throat dry. Erik nodded again. “Good night, Lady. Rest well, and safely.” 

He moved to leave and something flared in Aethelflaed’s chest. “Wait! I…” Erik turned back, his face wary and hopeful. “Do…do you sleep in a tent tonight?” 

“I do.” Erik laughed self-consciously. “Birger insisted.” 

Aethelflaed smiled. “He is hard to deny.” They stared at each other for a long moment, neither daring to speak into the silence. When the moment passed, they spoke at the same time. 

“I—”

“You—”

They both laughed again, awkwardly. Erik’s voice was low and needful. “Would Clufweart not…tell tales of your absence?” 

Aethelflaed sighed. “Perhaps. The girl is a thorn in my side already.” 

The silence stretched again, as both waited on the other to speak. “I will come to your tent,” Aethelflaed said finally, with quiet intensity. “When I am sure she is asleep.” 

Erik’s body seemed stiff. She noticed his throat bob as he swallowed. 

“If you will wait for me…”

“I will,” he said. “I will wait for you, lady. 

Erik waited in the deepening darkness. He felt like a bit of a fool, as if he were wooing her all over again, as childish and uncertain as a boy still unblooded. The constricting doubt in his belly warred with the warmth in his chest, and with the rising lust that came as he thought of her, naked in his arms. Would she let him have her? Or would she only want an account of all his failings, and an explanation he did not have? 

When she finally came, it took him by surprise. The tent flaps ruffled, and he found himself reaching for his knife. But he eased when he saw her, her hair loose around her face, her eyes glowing slightly in the light of the single dying rush flame. He stood tentatively in front of her, suddenly feeling intensely aware of his body, and her own. 

Her face crooked with a small smile. “Hello.” 

He took two steps towards her and reached to hold her hands within his own. 

“Lady…. “ His voice was low and hoarse. “Aethelflaed,” he corrected himself. He wanted to broach the distance between them, not stretch it further. “I—” His mouth was dry. He struggled to find the words to say, even though he had practiced them in his mind before she had come to the tent. 

Aethelflaed surprised him by leaning forward and kissing him quickly and lightly on the lips. He was too startled to respond, and she pulled away, her face falling slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. 

“No.” His hands moved to her face, turning her to look at him. “No, I —” the words floundered in his throat again. He kissed her instead, gently, teasing her mouth open with his tongue until she moaned softly and relaxed against him. 

He pulled away, his hands still on her face. “ _I_ am sorry, Aethelflaed,” he said. “I wish…I wish I could explain it. I wish I could describe what…demon has been haunting me of late. But I cannot. I can only hope to…assure you of…how I feel for you.” He was stroking her face lightly with his good hand, and she leaned in to the touch, her eyes closed. 

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him for a long moment, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted and still slightly wet from his mouth. They came together again, full of need. Erik pulled her against him, burying his face against her throat, kissing her urgently. Her breath came rapidly, her hands played over his chest. He felt himself stiffening and pressed his need against her, unthinking. She groaned in pleasure. 

They parted again, and a rapid, urgent undressing proceeded. Aethelflaed unclipped her overgrown, casting it off to reveal only her thin linen shift. Erik took off his own tunic and stood before her, naked chested in his trues. Aethelflaed’s eyes drifted over him. He wondered if his body looked different to her after his imprisonment. He hoped she was not disappointed. 

Aethelflaed reached out a hand to touch his chest, and the feeling of it sent shoots of pleasure down into his groin. He pulled her close to him again and let his hand play over her neck, slipping into the collar of her shift to hold her breast. 

Her voice was soft and breathy in his ear. “Erik—”

They were fumbling roughly now, their hands searing on each other’s skin, their mouths wet and open to the other. Erik lowered her down onto the soft pelt that served as his bed. She clutched at him, sitting up to straddle him as he laid down. She was rocking against him, one hand on his cock, the other tracing down the skin of his chest. 

Erik’s mouth felt suddenly dry and a sour taste rose in his throat. He felt frozen, trapped beneath her, his mind blank and his body numb. His breath was stuck in his chest. Then, with a gasp and grunt, he pushed her off of him as quickly and gently as he could. She fell beside him with a startled cry and lay there, stiff and silent and awkward. Erik felt the breath return raggedly to his lungs. He struggled to look at her, and felt his stomach sinking at the knowledge of it. How had it come so quickly back to this? 

“I am sorry…Erik.” She spoke very quietly. “I didn’t mean to — I…” her voice drifted off for a breath. “You do not want me?” 

“No — I mean, yes. I mean — I do. I do…want you.” His face was in his hands but he forced himself to turn towards her. She looked sheepish as she bit her lower lip and blinked rapidly. She pulled down her shift to cover her naked thighs. He found himself eased by the sight of her, even in her awkwardness and shame. She was Aethelflaed, his love, his woman…not the woman who had ridden him in Siegfried’s prison. She was not the woman whose body had left him feeling dead and hollow inside.

He managed to turn himself on his side to face her, and let his hand gently trace the shape of her face. “I am sorry,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “I _do_ want you. I just…I think I need to be in control right now.” 

She looked at him, her eyes confused, but she nodded tentatively. He leaned in to brush his mouth against her jaw and she moaned softly again. 

“I do not want to use you…or hurt you. But…I need you to do what I say. Is that…is that okay?” 

Aethelflaed swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I think I understand.” 

He looked into her face, searching for some sign of hesitation or fear. But Aethelflaed’s face was flushed with something else. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Erik kissed her mouth once, very deeply. He raked his hands up, under her shift, pulling it over her head. She moaned when his palms dragged against her skin. He held her throat lightly, fixing her to the ground as he untied his trues and kicked them off his legs. 

Erik turned her, so that she lay face down on the fur. The skin of her back was pale and glowing in the low light. He touched it lightly with his hand and realized she was trembling. 

“Are you afraid?” Erik felt his lust wane at the thought. Her fear did not rouse him. 

“No!” Her eyes fluttered open and she craned her face up to look at him. “No. It’s just…I want this so much, Erik.” 

“Oh.” Erik’s breath hitched in his throat. His cock was achingly hard. She squirmed a bit, rocking her hips as if trying to close the distance between them. Erik pinned her gently with his hands, pushing her hips back down into the furs. He pushed inside of her slowly and she gasped. She was very wet. Erik’s own breath was a low moan as he rocked deeper into her. 

“Erik—” she gasped. “Erik!” She turned her head, reaching around to try to touch his face and pull him closer. He pinned her arm gently with one hand. 

“No,” he said, but his voice was tender and he stroked the hair back from her face with the other hand as he spoke. 

“Erik.” His name was like a plea on her tongue. Her body tight and wet around him sent him reeling with pleasure. He felt a sudden need to be closer and deeper within her. He pulled out quickly and she groaned at the loss. But then he turned her - her body was loose and soft in his arms - and plowed into her again, wrapping his arms beneath her and pulling her face into the crook of his neck. 

“Erik,” she said again, and her hands fluttered down to circle his naked back, tracing the planes of his shoulders. “Is this okay?” Her voice was tentative and breathless. 

“Yes.” Her arms embraced him fully now, and he groaned, feeling the pleasure of her touch. His heart ached at the thought of it all - how badly he had needed control, how freely she had given it to him, how little he wanted it now. It was easy to be inside of her. Everything was simple when they were joined. 

He slowed. Some feeling was rising in his chest, although he could not say what it was. He buried his own face in her neck now, feeling the softness of her skin and the openness of her beneath him. He realized there was wetness on his face - tears were streaming slowly down his cheeks, pooling against Aethelflaed’s neck. 

Her breath caught, the moan of pleasure and need dying in her throat. She held him silently for what felt like a long time. “I am so sorry, Erik,” she said finally. He could not have borne pity from her, but there was no pity in her voice - only that deep and fierce gentleness that had drawn him to her and kept him fixed in her wake. 

Erik had never felt so vulnerable. He had never felt so close to another living being. He was still inside of her, but he lay still against her now, locked in the deepest embrace he had ever known. He let the tears fall into her hair until they all were spent. 

They lay side by side in the darkness. The fur of the pelt was soft on Erik’s naked back. Aethelflaed had pulled her shift back on, and Erik had drawn up a cloak to cover his nakedness. Erik held her hand gently as she lay on her back, looking up at the tent’s low ceiling. He could not see her face, but her hand was warm and solid within his own, and he could tell from her breathing that she was not asleep. 

“I am sorry about Siegfried,” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet, but there was a gentle strength to it. “I would understand…if you blamed me for his death.” 

Erik looked at her sharply, but only saw the curve of her face silhouetted in the darkness. “I do not blame you, Aethelflaed. It was I who killed him.” 

“And it is my fault that you split with him in the first place,” she countered with a long outbreath. “It is I who led you to that inevitable end.” 

“No. No…” Erik’s voice drifted, and he thought for a long moment on his brother, and on all the love and trust, pain and betrayal that had grown between them over the years. Every time he tried to pull back the curtain on it in his mind, he found another layer, a deeper level that he had not thought of or noticed before. 

Some new awareness spoke through him now, as he tried to explain it to Aethelflaed. 

“I think it was always inevitable. That I would have to kill him. He was my mess to clean up.” 

“You did not make him into what he was,” she said, a bit fiercely. 

“No…but I allowed it. I allowed him to become that. I turned away as he hardened into his…easy cruelty. And now…it is good that he is dead.” The words came out like a gasp of revelation. There was grief with it, but no tears filled Erik’s eyes. He was grateful for that. 

“I think so,” Aethelflaed agreed, and it did not chafe at him to hear her say it. That was a small marvel in itself. “But that does not mean you cannot grieve his death,” she added. 

He smiled gently, although he did not think she could see it. “I will grieve him…I _do_ grieve him, in my own way.”

“I am glad,” she said. 

“Aethelflaed —” he was overtaken by a sudden emotion, and turned on his side to look at her. He could just see the shape of her face in the dimness as she turned towards in. She looked back at him with her own gentle smile. 

“I’ve never —” he started, and stopped, and continued. “I never knew that I could have this. I never knew _this_ existed. I…I am not speaking well, but it is hard to find the words. Do you know what I mean?” 

Aethelflaed looked thoughtful for a moment, then laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure. I am sorry.” He laughed beside her at his own useless words. 

“I know you think that I just…desire you. That it is just lust that draws me to you.” 

She shook her head. “I do not think that, Erik. Is that what you think of me?” 

“No…I—” he was starting to feel flustered at himself. He took a breath. “I only mean…this is more than carnal love. I have never been able to speak with anyone the way I speak with you. It’s…it’s as if when we’re together like this, the whole world disappears, and I am just…free. I didn’t know that was possible. No one ever told me that love could do that.” 

Her eyes were wide as she looked at his face. “I understand,” she said softly. “I know what you mean. It is…new to me, as well.” 

His hands moved down slowly, to smooth over her stomach, holding her where their child grew inside of her. He heard her gasp slightly, and she leaned her face closer to his own. “I am very glad…about the child,” he said quietly. “I know I have not said as much, and I am sorry for that. It is only…I am also very afraid.” 

Aethelflaed made a small noise in her throat. She kissed him lightly, where his cheek rested against her face. “You will be a good father, I am sure of it.” 

Erik felt a constriction in his throat. He moved his hands to hold her face, and kissed her tenderly and deeply on the mouth. It was easy to forget the world outside, it was easy to forget that there was anyone or anything outside of that moment, laying softly beside her. But the outside world always crept in through the cracks. He felt it now…the fear, the uncertainty. He tried to beat it back, and failed. “Aethelflaed…when we get to Oxenford —?” 

“Please,” she cut him off. “Please, don’t. I cannot think on it. Not now. I do not know what will happen, so please — just…let me be with you.” 

He pulled her closer, letting his fears fall away, and held her tightly in his arms until they fell asleep. 


	49. Chapter 49

“A marriage alliance?” Aethelwulf asked archly. “To a Northman? To what end, Lady?” 

Aethelflaed sat in the stone hall at Oxenford, where she had gathered her trusted advisors and allies for an informal Witan. To her surprise, her uncle Aethelwulf had been awaiting her return, and now she found herself unexpectedly forced to make her case to him in front of the council. Edgar of Aebingdune and his wife Aelfwynn were present, as were Edgewulf and Birger, of her own personal guard. She wished that Lord Cuthbert had been there to offer his support, but things had moved very rapidly upon their arrival and there had been no time to summon him. 

Erik sat across from her in a stiff-backed wooden chair, looking awkward and slightly out of place and she tried not to catch his eye as she spoke. 

“An alliance between Saxon and Northman could bind the fractured state of Mercia,” she explained to her Uncle. She felt a bit as if she was reading from a prepared script. 

Aethelwulf’s eyebrows lifted. He had small, deep set eyes over a large bulbous nose, and a close cropped gray beard. If Aethelflaed squinted, she supposed she could see the resemblance to her mother. Aethelflaed was kin with this man, although she’d met him only a handful of times. She could only hope that the bond would hold now. 

“You have caused much trouble for Mercia, and for Wessex, Lord Erik. Pardon me if I am not overly excited at the prospect of paying homage to you now.” 

Erik coughed slightly and straightened. “I have killed my own brother Siegfried - your enemy - and helped to restore the remaining ransom silver. I think I have proven my good intent.” 

Aethelwulf was thoughtful, his hands steepled in front of his face. Aethelflaed was trying very hard not to look at Erik as the meeting progressed. It was not because she did not wish to see him, but because she feared he would catch her eye and set her blushing in front of the entire council. It was already hard enough to turn her mind from the thought of his body against her own. There had been no chance to share their love again, after their time together in Erik’s tent, and she found her mind playing it over and over in each idle moment. It was if they were suddenly new-forged lovers again, and she was caught in a tide of driving need against her better judgement. But of course, they had always been new-forged lovers - they had not yet known each other long enough for their lust to whither and wane. 

“What of Siegfried’s army?” Aethelwulf asked roughly, forcing Aethelflaed’s mind back to the meeting. “Do you command it for yourself?” Aethelflaed felt her frustration rise. Her uncle had seemingly taken control of the meeting, demanding that they answer to him for their plans. It set her teeth on edge, but she told herself it would be worth it if they won his support in the end. 

Erik’s eyes flitted quickly to Aethelflaed, then back to her uncle. “No,” he admitted. “But the army will fracture, I am certain. The Danes have been weakened on the water by Lord Uhtred’s attack on their ships. There will be raiders, no doubt, but without the silver of the random, those who remain pose little threat.” 

“I see. So what do you command, Lord Erik? Ships? Men? What do you bring to this…alliance?” He gestured widely between Erik and Aethelflaed. There was a slight mocking tone to his voice. 

“My ships were lost alongside my brother’s,” Erik explained, his voice becoming tense. “But I bring the support of Lord Cuthbert of Bedaford, and the Lords of Hamtune and Huntandun with him. Together with my warriors, we command much of the fighting power of the Western part of Danelaw. With this alliance, we could swell the borders of Mercia with little effort. If we hold both sides of Watling Street, we can more easily command the tariffs of the trade that moves down the street and swell the prosperity of Mercia. We can build back the wealth lost to Siegfried’s ransom, and hold a stronger peace for the Mercian people.” 

It was a good pitch, and Aethelflaed was surprised and pleased at Erik’s charisma. Even Aethelwulf raised his brows thoughtfully. 

“And what of King Alfred?” He asked Aethelflaed now. “Does he sanction the match?”

Aethelflaed swallowed and tried to meet Aethelwulf’s eyes with as much bravery as she could muster. “He does not know of my plans,” she admitted. “With your support, I may be able to convince him of its good sense.” 

Aethelwulf’s face darkened slightly. “And have you given thought to how the good Christian people are Mercia will react to a Heathen Lord? Or is that something else you plan to…figure out as you go along?” 

Aethelflaed blinked. “There have been Pagan lords all over this land for many years now, and the Christian faith has not yet been scoured from our shores.” 

“But those lands are war-torn and full of the stench of desecrated holy places! Their people live in a torment of war and devilry, their souls doomed before they are born due to the godlessness of their homeland. Is this the fate you wish for Mercia?” 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Aethelflaed was slightly taken aback. She had thought her uncle more of a shrewd politician than a pious zealot, clutching his crosses. 

“I…do not think it is quite as dire as all that, Uncle.” 

Aethelwulf’s face twitched. “And I think…I think that you wish to marry this man, for reasons I cannot fathom, and you hope to invent some excuse to do so against all sense. Do you wish to watch the people of Mercia die, for your foolishness?” 

Aethelflaed opened her mouth, but to her surprise and relief, Aelfwynn of Aebingdune spoke up in her defense.

“With all respect, Lord Aethelwulf, the people of Mercia are already dying for the sake of Aethelred’s foolishness. My husband’s own man told us of the state of Oxenford fyrd before Aethelflaed took command. I am sure you have heard similar stories of Wircester, which is closer to your home.” 

“And Lord Aethelred tried to kill Lady Aethelflaed, not once, but twice!” Edgewulf added. “I was there, I saw her men fall by Aethelred’s command. _Mercian men_. Is that the way to peace? What do you think will happen, if the Lord of Mercia kills King Alfred’s daughter? Prosperity for all our people and kin? If the Saxons come to war, the Danes will destroy as all.” 

“But that is what you suggest!” Aethelwulf countered angrily. “War between Saxons - civil war in Mercia!” 

“While we are prepared!” Edgar said, his voice risen in defiance. “While we have the upper hand! Siegfried is dead, the landless Danes are in chaos amongst themselves, and we hold the support of some of the Danish warlords east of Watling Street. The timing could not be better - one battle and we could ensure Alfred’s peace, and the alliance between Wessex and Mercia for generations to come.” 

Edgar finished his speech, and Aethelwulf lapsed into sullen silence. He looked shiftily between Erik, Aethelflaed, Edgar, and Edgewulf, his brows tightly knitted. 

“We must turn our attention to strategy, and to what must be done next,” Edgar announced finally, into the silence. 

Aethelwulf coughed and spluttered back into speech. Aethelflaed thought she saw Edgar roll his eyes lightly. 

“But I have not consented to the match!” He declaredd. “As the Lady Aethelflaed’s only male kinsman present, and as an aeldorman of Mercia, I have a say in whether this shall be allowed!” 

They all stared at Aethelwulf, blinking. Edgewulf cleared his throat meaningfully. “With respect Lord,” he said, “everyone here is in support of the alliance. If you are not…you are welcome to leave.” 

Aethelflaed coughed to stifle the small laugh that rose to her throat. Aethelwulf’s face was frozen in a sort of dumb-struck scowl. She wanted his support, it was true. It would be dangerous to let him go now, knowing what he did of her plans. But she would sooner let him walk away than allow him to command her to his will. 

“It is true, Uncle,” she said. “So will you go or will you stay?” 

Aethelwulf coughed and grumbled, trying to regain his composure. “I…will stay,” he said after a long moment. “You have my support. I swear it - on my life.” 

Aethelflaed felt wary at the strange look in his eyes, like a fox backed into a corner by a hound. But she chose to trust his word and nodded graciously. “We are grateful to have it, Uncle. Now, Lord Edgar…I believe you were speaking of strategy?” 

It was a long discussion, as they battered around battle plans and tactics. Aethelflaed had been pleased on her return to learn that Edgar _had_ retaken Aegelsburgh, after Aethelred had retreated to the Northwest to hold the ford at Wircester. Edgar had lost four men in the battle, and Aethelflaed had offered to pay the geld on their lives. They had died in her service, she figured, and deserved no less. 

The recapture of Aegelsburgh solidified their position in the shire of the Southeast, whereas Aethelred held the North. The land that Aethelred held was greater, but less populous. With luck, they would outnumber him on the field. It was also a more tenuous position for him, as the Northern border was often prone to Viking raids from Jorvik, and the Welsh to the West were not always held back by Offa’s dyke. When they learned of the strife in Mercia, they would come like vultures, and Aethelred would have to hold back the enemy on all sides. 

Aethelflaed still had to grapple with the threat of raids from the rivers, executed by Siegfried’s splintering war bands. But she had sent portions of the ransom silver to the Lords of the Southern burhs that held the most strategic positions for defense. She hoped it would help them strengthen their resistance. She told herself that she would build many more burhs, when she held greater command. For now, she hoped it would be enough. 

With the South and the East secure as they were likely to be, the discussion moved to their march North, and where they would try to meet Aethelred on the field. After much debate, they decided to head for the settlement at Weirwic. It was East of Aethelred’s stronghold at Wircester, and South from the old Mercian capital of Tamworthig, which rested now in the ravaged lands squabbled over by Danish warlords and raiders. If they took Weirwic, they would have a path deeper into Western Mercia by way of the Avon River. And if Aethelred tried to stop them, they would cut him down, by the grace of God. 

Aethelflaed was growing weary of the discussion, her head swimming uncomfortably with every detail of their plans. Her stomach churned at the thought of the march North, which would surely find her weak and ill every morning from her child-sickness. She was not looking forward to it. But Edgar was still speaking, moving the conversation down to some other point on his agenda. Aethelflaed brought her focus back to the room with effort. 

“We must be clear about the process of succession,” Edgar was saying. 

“Aethelflaed has no children by Aethelred,” Birger pointed out, confused. 

“And that is a good thing!” Aethelwulf interjected, cutting off Edgar’s response. “There will be no competition between heirs, or any… conflict for the new Lord.” 

Erik had been looking at Aethelflaed meaningfully, making her heart thrum with the feeling of his eyes on her. But now he turned and stiffened at Aethelwulf’s suggestion. 

“I would not kill Aethelflaed’s children in favor of my own, if that is what you are suggesting.” His face curled with disgust. “You think I am a savage.” 

“It—” Aethelflaed spoke to him directly, feeling a flush of shame herself. “It is…not unheard of, for Saxon lords to kill rival aethelings. To secure the succession. Many recommended my father do as much with my cousin Aethelwold, but…he did not.” 

Erik’s face was still hard but he eased a bit at Aethelflaed’s words. 

“Is it not the custom, amongst royals where you come from?” Edgewulf asked.

“I do not know,” Erik spoke darkly. “I have never been a royal.” 

Aethelwulf sniffed pointedly. 

“Either way,” Edgar interjected, regaining control of the conversation. “That is _not_ the succession I was speaking of, but the succession from Lord Aethelred to Lord Erik. It must be done well, with honor. We had thought,” he stalled momentarily, his eyes shifting to Aethelwulf. “Before…before the alliance with Lord Erik was made, we had discussed how Lady Aethelflaed might claim the title in her own name.” Erik’s face turned to Aethelflaed with surprise, his forehead creased. There was an expression in his face that she could not read. 

“But it is much simpler this way,” Edgar continued. “The transition of Lordship from one man to another. The marriage to Lady Aethelflaed will reinforce the claim in the eyes of the law. But…the people cannot know the alliance was planned before hand. It will seem…dishonorable.” 

“What do you suggest?” Birger asked. He addressed the question to Edgar but his eyes were on Aethelflaed. Aethelflaed found she could not speak. Her mouth was very dry and there was a strange, hollow feeling in her chest. 

“Lord Erik must win it in his own name, with his own army,” Edgar explained. “It must be him who commands the forces we have mustered.” 

“That makes no sense,” Erik interjected, his face drawn and his mouth pressed into a tight line. He torn his eyes away from Aethelflaed’s face to look at Edgar. “They are Aethelflaed’s forces more than mine. I can command the warriors of Danish Mercia, but the fyrd answers to her alone. The lords of the shires of Oxenford and Middelseaxon will not follow _me_. They have no reason to.” 

Edgar sighed impatiently. Aethelwulf looked grimly pleased, as though his doubts had been confirmed. “Then, if the forces must be allied under both banners,” Edgar continued, clearly thinking as he spoke, “then Lord Erik must take the helm in killing Aethelred. If not by his sword then by his men. It is the cleanest way.” 

Aethelflaed found her voice suddenly, urgently. There was a cry of anger buried within it, although she tried very hard to hide it. 

“And…I am do to what, exactly? Hide on the sidelines, waiting to be claimed like a prize? This is my kingdom, these are my people! I will fight beside them.” 

“With respect, Lady,” Edgar said, his face twisted with an awkward expression. “It is your _husband’s_ kingdom. And it will continue to be so, if our plan succeeds.” He gestured to Erik, who was looking at Aethelflaed, his face pale and helpless. 

“They cannot tell us what to do,” Erik said. They stood together, in the small yard outside the stone villa, their voices low, their bodies pitched apart formally as they spoke. “Who are they to command us?” 

Aethelflaed sighed. “They are the men who will be our Witan. Your…witan,” she corrected herself, dryly. “It is their job to offer council, and it is your job to listen.” 

“It is not fair,” Erik said, his face suddenly fierce. “It is not fair to you, Aethelflaed.” 

“It is the way of things,” she said, unable to meet his eye. “Isn’t that what you’ve always said?

He made a low sound of frustration in his throat. “It is not right. We will lead together, Aethelflaed. I swear it.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Do you doubt me?” He asked, his voice intense. 

“No,” she said. “It is the world I doubt.” 

They lapsed into silence for a moment, before Aethelflaed shrugged the conversation away, changing the subject. “The fyrd will return within the week,” she said. “We must be ready to march when they arrive.”

Erik nodded, a shadow of concern still painting his face. “Do you think they will all return?” He asked. 

“No,” she admitted. “But the ones who do will be loyal, and healthy and willing. That is worth more than a greater army of half dead men.” 

“I agree.” He paused for a moment, then spoke again. “I must go to Bedaford. I must meet with Cuthbert and raise what warriors I can.” 

“Yes,” Aethelflaed agreed with a breath. “But I do not look forward to watching you ride into Danish Mercia again.” 

Erik laughed lightly. “I will be safe, Lady. I think the threat to my life has passed.” 

“You should take my man Aldun with you,” she suggested. “He speaks the Danish tongue, and may be of some help.”

Erik nodded. “I will, Lady.” 

“And you will meet us, at Weirwic?” She asked. “Or else you will find us on the road?” 

“Yes,” he promised. “If it is the last thing I do.” 

Aethelflaed rolled her eyes to quell the fear rising in her chest. “Do not say that. It sounds like a portent of doom and tragedy.” 

He smiled at her reprimand. “I will find you, Lady,” Erik said, earnestly. “I promise.” 

“And then?” 

“And then…we will defeat Aethelred. And we will be free.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! i think i'm two weeks out from my last update which means I've been a bad Wren. Things have been a little wild in my life lately and I haven't been up and up on my fanfic life. Thank you to everyone who is continuing to read, comment, and enjoy this fic! I promise I will be better at staying updated and staying in touch!

Weirwic was a promising settlement. It lay close to the riverbed, and the fields were fresh and fertile with new growing grain. It had been three days march from Oxenford once the fyrd returned. To Aethelflaed’s pleasure, the weather had held, and the men were in good spirits despite the strain of the road. There had been no battle to claim the high meadows where the fyrd was now camped. The town itself had no walls, only rough ditches and pikes, and the local lord Osbert had surrendered swiftly upon Aethelflaed’s arrival. She sat in his hall now, grateful for the hospitality of his table, and she mused on the promise that Weirwic held. It would be a good place for a burh, she thought. It was close to the river, where it could act as a stronghold in defense of the surrounding countryside. She found herself more frequently lost in thought of what she would do for Mercia, once the battle was won. But first there had to be a battle. 

“The scouts have seen no sign of Aethelred’s forces,” Birger reported. “Perhaps he still waits in Wircester?” 

“Hmm.” Aethelflaed turned to Osbert, who sat beside her at the hall’s high table. “Have you heard news from Aethelred, Lord Osbert?” He was flustered, she knew, surprised at how quickly she had taken him into her fold as an ally and accomplice. But he was rising to the challenge, as she had thought he would. She found he had only a perfunctory allegiance to Aethelred, and that his true loyalty was hers for the taking. 

“No, Lady. I only know he is in Wircester. There has been no news of him in the countryside of late.” 

“He wishes to draw us to him,” Aethelflaed declared. “While he solidifies his position amongst the Western lords. He wishes to determine the conditions and location of the battle. What do you know of Wircester, Osbert?” She asked, making him startle slightly again. “Does it have Roman walls? I admit, I have never been there.” 

Osbert thought nervously for a moment. “No, Lady. Not that I know of, Lady.” 

“Then it will not be wise for Aethelred to try to force the battle there. He could not withstand an attack from our forces. He will want to meet us on the field.” 

“Yes, Lady,” Birger agreed. 

“We will send scouts, Birger, down the River Avon deeper into the Western heart of Mercia. There will be news of Aethelred, I am certain.” 

“It will be done, Lady. And in the meantime?” 

“In the meantime, I suppose all we can do is wait.” 

Aethelflaed was well minded to hold off marching further for the moment. Erik had still not returned from Danelaw, and it set her on edge with anxiety and mild frustration. She could command the forces in his absence, but she could not risk forcing the battle without him - both for the sake of their alliance, and for the sake of her own wish to have him beside her. 

As they waited for news, Aethelflaed chewed anxiously over the plan for the battle.

“My intent is to defeat Aethelred with as little loss to Mercian life as possible, on either side of the field.” She said to Edgar, on their second afternoon in Weirwic. They both stood on a promontory of the Northern field, overlooking the fyrd as they practiced shield walls. 

“You are good-hearted, Lady, but we cannot risk losing the battle for the sake of sentiment.” 

“It is not sentiment that fuels me, Edgar.” she reprimanded. “But strategy. We cannot expect the loyalty of men who watch as we slaughter their kin.” 

Edgar’s eyebrows raised. “Lady…is it not the way of things? We must take their loyalty. By force, if necessary.”

Aethelflaed sighed in frustration. She missed Aelfwynn, who often served to guide her husband toward’s Aethelflaed’s view of things. Aelfwynn had stayed in Oxenford at Edgar’s command. Aelfwynn was brave and strong and gentle, but at the end of the day, she was a dutiful wife. 

“I seek to the change _the way of things_ , Edgar. Is that not why you follow me?” 

Edgar’s face shifted, and he thumbed his belt. “Of course, Lady. I…I will think and pray on your intention. I am certain we shall find a way.” 

“Have you killed men in battle, Lady?” Clufweart asked, excitedly. She had dogged Aethelflaed throughout the entire ride to Weirwic and had not stopped upon their arrival. It did not help that Clufweart had taken to sharing Aethelflaed’s quarters each night, posturing herself as Aethelflaed’s personal bodyguard in Aldun’s absence. But Aethelflaed did not chafe at the girl’s personality any longer. She had simply learned to endure it, like an overzealous puppy snapping at her heels. 

“Not in battle, no,” Aethelflaed admitted. Clufweart ate an apple loudly, lounging back on Aethelflaed’s bed as Audr’s fixed her braids, a long suffering expression on her face. “But I have killed men, yes.” 

Clufweart’s eyes widened and she sat up, discarding the apple core on the floor. Aethelflaed breathed out slowly through her nose. “And when we are in battle, Lady?” The girl continued. “Shall I ride on your left or your right side?” 

“You will not come to battle, Clufweart,” Aethelflaed said evenly. “Neither of you. You must stay at the camp, help to protect the other women there, and tend the wounded if they come to you.” 

Clufweart’s eyes were narrowed as she tried to figure out what Aethelflaed was saying. “So you will be at the camp as well, then?” 

Aethelflaed could not hold back a small laugh. “No, Clufweart. I will ride into battle, without you.” 

Clufweart’s face was frozen in confusion. Aethelflaed had the sense to feel a slight pang of shame at her own hypocrisy. She had bristled when Egdar commanded his wife to stay behind from the march, but now she commanded her own women to watch and wait on the sidelines. She felt regret at Clufweart’s crestfallen expression now. 

“I am sorry, Clufweart,” she said kindly. “But you are needed there. The camp will be one of the most vulnerable places, if Aethelred chooses to attack. I would not leave it undefended.” 

Clufweart nodded slowly, her pride rebounding, her eyes shining slightly. “I will not let you down, Lady. I will defend it with my life!” 

Aethelflaed felt Audr’s hands twitch lightly on her head. She buried her own smile in her hands. 

To Aethelflaed’s surprise, Aethelwulf had accompanied them to Weirwic, along with twelve warriors of his personal guard. She had not thought Aethelwulf spry enough to face the journey or the battle, but he seemed to be in good spirits, buoyed by the free-flowing drink of Osbert’s hall. Aethelwulf had claimed almost half of the hall for himself and his men, to both Osbert and Aethelflaed’s chagrin. 

“Lady—Aetheflaaed…” he said to her drunkenly, four days after their arrival. It was early in the day to be so deep in his cups, but there was little to do while they waited for news and so Aethelflaed tried not to judge him too harshly. “It is not too late to change your mind…about the alliance.” He picked at his pork as he spoke. His fingers and lips were greasy. He made her think often of her cousin Aethelwold, and she had to remind herself that he and Aethelwold were not actually related. It was a small wonder. 

“Why would I change my mind, Uncle?” She asked evenly. She was writing a letter to Mildred of Celtanhom, and she did not relish the distraction. 

“We could march to battle now! Without…the Dane. Take Mercia without him, and you can make a better marriage to a Mercian nobleman, secure the succession. Your father would be proud, Lady! So proud.” 

Aethelflaed narrowed her eyes, setting down her quill as calmly as she could. “We are waiting for Lord Erik’s reinforcements from Danish Mercia. Our position is weaker without him.” 

“We can take them!” He said conspiratorially, his voice lowered to a dramatic whisper. “I am sure of it, Lady!” 

“I thank you for your counsel, Uncle. But we will wait for the Lord Erik.” 

Nearly a week had passed since they arrived, and it was not just Aethelwulf who was impatient anymore. All the men chafed at the delay, eager to meet their fates, rather than waiting idly to die. The scouts had returned with news that Aethelred’s forces still waited at Wircester. Aethelflaed had sent her letter to Mildred, telling her they moved from the East, and could use the support of the men of Gleawecastreshire from the South. She could only hope it reached its mark. 

Aethelflaed was feeling the maddening crucible of it all herself. If it had just been Erik’s absence on her mind, she would have anxious enough. But now the lives of thousands waited on the length of distance or closeness between them. It would be easier, she thought, if it simply _was_ an alliance - if it was not her heart that rested in the balance as well.

When the shout came - “Riders!” - Aethelflaed ran to meet it with aching relief. But from the small wooden rampart that overlooked the Southern plain, only three men came into view. She ran down and out of the fort, Clufweart and Birger on her heels, parting small clumps of men to greet the riders at the edge of the camp. 

To her shock, it was Uhtred’s men who dismounted, their horses breathless and slick with sweat, their own brows reddened by the spring sun. 

“Lady—” one said breathlessly. 

“Finan—” she knew him, from her time at Coccham. He had served Uhtred loyally for some years now. Uhtred’s man Sihtric stood beside him, and another younger man. She realized with a lurch that it was Osferth, her own half-brother, the king’s bastard. She tried to smile at him thinly. “What is it?” She asked Finan. “Is there news from Uhtred?” 

“Yes, Lady.” His Irish accent was clear, even in his breathlessness. “He has sent us to tell you…your father marches North with troops.” 

Aethelflaed’s stomach sank with dread. She took a step back, repressing a low groan. “And Uhtred - he could not come himself?” 

“Ahh…” Finan started, trying to find his words. 

“King Alfred has caught him in a bit of a…tricky position, I suppose you could say?” Sihtric finished. 

Aethelflaed looked frantically between them, knowing the confusion was clear on her face. It was Osferth who spoke, softly and clearly, his hands clasped demurely behind his body. “King Alfred has stationed much of his guard at Coccham. He waits just South of the Mercian border, waiting to determine…if his troops are needed.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, swallowing. “And who does he march for? Does he say? Aethelred, or myself?” 

An awkward look passed between the men. “I do not know, Lady,” Finan said. “I am not sure the King himself knows.” 

“And either way, he will call on Uhtred to lead his men.” 

“Yes, Lady. It is likely.” 

“But… Uhtred has sent us!” Sihtric offered helpfully. “To help you. Does the battle with Aethelred approach?” He looked around, as if expecting to see an army charging over the hill behind them.

Aethelflaed lost her composure for a moment. She rubbed her face roughly with her hands and let out a low cry of frustration. Uhtred’s men blinked at her, slightly taken aback. 

“No,” she said fiercely. “It does not. Aethelred stalls at Wircester, waiting to draw us to him. Lord Erik has not returned from Bedaford with reinforcements. You have not had word of him, on the road?” She asked, hopefully. 

“No, Lady,” Finan said with regret. 

Aethelflaed felt caught in a great whirlwind, much bigger than herself yet somehow also churning with her at its center. She could not make a decision without breaking another. She could not do the next right thing without risking everything. She could not march without Erik, but it was suddenly, fiercely true that she could not wait for him any longer. 

“We must go. We must march to Wircester. We cannot risk my father’s troops stopping us. We are out of time.” 

“And Lord Erik, Lady?” Birger asked. She shared a long and desperate look with him. 

“We will pray he finds us there.” 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late again, late again! i'm a fool and a scoundrel, i know.

Aldhelm massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. It was necessary to ease the ache in his head that lived somewhere behind his eyes. He had not been able to get rid of it for days. 

“Lord,” he said, as clearly and evenly as he could, “the scouts have returned with word of the Lady Aethelflaed. Her forces march West from Weirwic as we speak.” 

Aethelred turned to look at Aldhelm, his face slightly mocking, his posture lazy and relaxed as he drank from his third cup of ale. “What forces?” He snorted. “A ragtag band of half-Danes and Oathbreakers? Forgive me if I do not shake in my boots.” 

Aldhelm took a measured breath. “Lord…the scouts guess that she has upwards of…eight hundred men, Lord.” 

Aethelred’s face paled for a moment, before he regained his composure. “That cannot be true. It is an exaggeration.” 

“Whether or not it is true, Lord, we must act. Now, before they reach us here. Wircester cannot be defended in an outright attack.” 

“The fyrd will defend me,” Aethelred declared pompously, although there was a note of anxiety in his voice. 

“The fyrd? The fyrd are ill-trained and ill-fed, Lord. It is not your fault, Lord,” he added quickly, at Aethelred’s searing glare. “The Western Lords have not been generous in their tithing.” 

“No, they have not, Aldhelm,” Aethelred said sourly, placated. It was always this way with Aethelred, the compliments to ease his pride, the murmured pandering to calm his anger. With each word, Aldhelm hoped that he could guide him, like an ungainly ship, along the proper course. _For Mercia_ , Aldhelm told himself. But if Aethelred was Mercia, then Mercia would soon be on its knees. 

“Regardless of your displeasure with the local lords, we must rely on them now - on their warriors - to get us through the battle. We must try to acquiesce them.”

Aethelred’s face twisted with petulant anger. “Am I not their Lord, Aldhelm? Will I not be their King? It is they who must acquiesce me, not the other way around. To do anything else is to show weakness. I do not expect you to understand.” 

Aldhelm closed his eyes briefly as he bowed, hoping the frustration did not show on his face. “Of course, Lord. Of course they owe you their allegiance. I did not mean to suggest otherwise.” 

Aethelred was waving his apology away. “Let them march,” he said. “Siegfried’s men will overtake them and destroy them from the rear. Do the scouts have news of his army?” 

Aldhelm felt his heart stop in his chest for a moment. Siegfried. Had he not told Aethelred the news of Siegfried? Had he truly forgotten, or had Aethelred been too drunk and foolish to hear it? 

“Lord, I…thought I told you, but I must have forgotten. I apologize, I am so sorry.” 

“What is it, Aldhelm? Tell me!” 

“Lord Siegfried…he is dead, Lord. The news came yesterday from a Danish trader.” Aethelred’s face was turning an unpleasant shade of purple-red. “If his army does march, Lord… I do not think it will be to our aid.” 

“Siegfried….is…dead?” 

“Yes, Lord,” Aldhelm forced the words out as quickly as he could. “But I think we can defeat Aethelflaed with our own men, if only we act quickly and strategically —”

“FOOLS!” Aethelred bellowed. “I am surrounded by FOOLS, and you are the worst of them, Aldhelm! Was it not your idea to appeal to Siegfried, to make an alliance with him?”

“Lord, with respect, I believe it was your idea —”

“Get out, Aldhelm! GET OUT!” 

Aldhelm took a step back at Aethelred’s rage. “Lord, we must—”

“I have no need for your council, Aldhelm. Leave me, before I bury my knife in your gut.” 

Aldhelm nodded weakly and left without speaking. 

Aethelred was good to his word. He did not seek Aldhelm’s council again, but in the morning he announced that they would march in full force to the plain at Alnecester. There, he declared, they would destroy Lady Aethelflaed, (the heathen whore with her half-Dane mongrels), and claim back Mercia from the yoke of Wessex. There was a half-hearted cheer amongst the men of the fyrd, stifled in effect by the hunger and fear that lurked in their eyes. It was true that Alnecester would make a good field for battle, but only if they arrived first. If Aethelflaed claimed the higher Southern ground…

But Aethelred did not want Aldhelm’s council, so Aldhelm rode in silence in the column, and hoped they would not all die. 

Erik rode harder and faster than he had in his life. The gray stallion he had ridden since Coccham was lithe and fast on its feet, and together they flew across the Mercian countryside with three-and-thirty mounted warriors at their back. 

He had been forced to tarry longer than he wished in Bedaford, finding Cuthbert away when he arrived at the Saxon lord’s fortress. He had waited in the town for a handful of days with Aldun and Magni, feeling himself grow increasingly anxious and impatient. He had spent months in this town, courting allies and raising men to fight with him, and now it seemed they had vanished into thin air. He prayed he had not doomed Aethelflaed for the sake of a promise he could not keep. 

Lord Cuthbert returned on the fifth day, to Erik’s intense relief. The three men rode together to meet him in his hall, and Erik’s heart raised at the sight of the warriors who mingled in the yard, casting wary or startled glances in his direction. He yelled in pleasure at the sight of his man Sig among them. 

“Lord Erik!” Sig called to him, amid the clattering of men stacking shields. 

“Sig!” Erik dismounted swiftly, handing his horse to an attentive stable boy. He clapped Sig on the back. “It is good to see you alive!” 

“I could say the same for you. We heard news of Siegfried from Beamfleot, but we did not dare to hope —”

“It is true,” Erik nodded. “And now we ride North, to meet Aethelflaed’s army. Where can I find Cuthbert?” 

“We have just returned from a fight, Lord Erik. The men are hungry and exhausted.” 

Erik looked around warily, hearing the tension in Cuthbert’s voice. His hall was still in disarray, as servants scuttled around trying to accommodate the arrival of so many men. 

“Whom did you fight?” 

“Raiders from the Northern Boroughs,” Cuthbert explained. “They think we are a weak target, disorganized and lacking unity. But we struck them a blow to send them reeling.” 

“That is good news! We may strike them yet again, when we join with our allies across Watling Street.” 

Cuthbert looked at him wearily, his eyes sunken in his face. “I wish to join you, Erik. But not before the men have rested.” 

Erik swallowed nervously, trying to count back the days in his head. Aethelflaed would be starting her march North, if she had not left already. They were running out a time. “How long do you need?” 

Cuthbert let out of a breath, looking thoughtful. “Overmorrow? Or the day after. If you can wait longer, we can send messengers to Hamtune and Huntandun. There may be more there who would join you.” 

“I am running out of time, Cuthbert,” he said, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. 

“Give me five days. In five days, we can raise thirty warriors, I am certain of it.” 

Erik pushed away his doubt and chose instead to trust in fate. “We leave on the fifth day, Cuthbert. No later.” 

Cuthbert sighed. “Agreed.” He poured a mug of ale and pushed it towards Erik. “Now sit and drink with me.” 

As fate would have it, they left on the sixth day. Erik would have been angry at the delay, but he had admit that Cuthbert was right. The men did come, and it was worth the wait. The host of three-and-thirty mounted spearmen and archers riding North was a greater number than Erik could have hoped for. Still, it would all be for naught if they arrived too late. 

Cuthbert rode with them, and Erik had been surprised at first, thinking the man too long in years to still crave the hard road to battle. He had said as much to the man, as kindly as he could, and Cuthbert had laughed throatily. “I may be long in years, Erik, but my blood still sings at the promise of a fight.” 

They approached Weirwic after a day and a half of travel, having crossed the miles with the speed of phantom elves. The sun was high in the sky as they rode over the crest of the hill into the town, and it warmed the metal of Erik’s mail, so that his lungs felt tight and empty. The sharp glare illuminated the truth that Erik’s heart had feared. The town was still and shuttered, the camp an abandoned husk on the far hill. They were too late. 

Erik spurred his horse forward, galloping down into the village, trying not to curse in anger at his failure. A little girl with nut brown hair sat on a small promontory of the village’s single wooden tower. She looked down at him with curious eyes. She did not seem to fear him. 

“Are you Erik?” She asked in a high pitched voice. Her strange Mercian accent sounded silly to his ears. 

“Yes,” he said, trying not to sound too harsh. 

“I have a message for you, from the Lady Aethelflaed” 

“Speak it.” 

“They left the day before yesterday, for…” she scrunched up her face, as if trying to remember. “…The field at Alnecester, I think. You are to meet them there, if you come in time.” 

“In time for the battle?” 

She nodded, exaggerating the gesture dramatically. He almost laughed at this small, strange girl, and her silliness. But his blood ran too fast for that. “They say it will be tomorrow.” 


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic sex

“Aethelred’s forces draw near,” Aethelflaed declared to the council gathered in her tent. “The scouts say he will arrive by morning. We must be ready for battle.” 

“The men are prepared, Lady,” Birger assured her. “And our position is good. Aethelred’s forces will have to ford the river to meet us. They will be facing the sun, and the uphill slope. The advantage is with us ” 

Aethelflaed nodded. They had arrived in time to claim the high ground at the field of Alnecester. Yet doubt still clawed at her mind. 

“But what is to stop Aethelred from refusing the cross the river?” She asked. “Forcing us to surrender our advantage to meet him? He has resisted advancing on our army at every turn so far. I cannot imagine it will be different once he arrives.” 

The men of the council fell into thoughtful silence. Edgewulf spoke up finally with calm confidence. “Our camp is not visible from the ford in the river, Lady. I was down there myself earlier today. If we conceal our forces until the last moment…then Aethelred is likely to cross the ford unknowingly, hoping to claim the high ground for himself. If we conceal our forces, we may take him by surprise.” 

Aethelflaed was nodding, excitement rising in her chest. “Yes. A surprise charge down the hill, we take them off guard…” 

“Or we flounder on their shield wall,” Edgar said doubtfully, “unable to prepare our own.” 

Birger spoke up. “But if we are quick, they will not have time to form the shield wall,” Birger offered. 

“It is a risk, Lady,” Edgar warned. 

Aethelflaed chewed over the problem, confusion and confidence warring in her heart. Aethelred was a fool, she knew it. But he was often prone to strange strokes of luck on the battlefield. She could not risk her men’s lives on the chance that he would blunder into their trap. Not unless…

“Horsemen,” she said, almost to herself. “We send horsemen down, leading the charge. They can break the enemy line before it even forms!” 

Aethelwulf grumbled, his cheeks red and his eyes sunken with drink. “Horsemen cannot break a shield wall, Lady Aethelflaed. Any warrior could tell you that.” 

He meant it as a slight, she knew. She looked at him darkly and did not back down. “We use the horsemen for their speed,” she explained, her voice tight. “Create chaos amongst Aethelred’s men. Allow our own men time to advance with shields.” 

“It’s a mad idea,” Finan said. Aethelflaed had invited Uhtred’s Irish warrior to the council, and she looked to him now, her chest tense. “But…it might actually work.” 

“It could work,” Edgar admitted. “If everything goes just right. But we do not have many warriors skilled enough to wield spear and sword from horseback.” 

“And your allies from Gleawecastreshire have not materialized, Lady,” Aethelwulf said. “I doubt they will be with us on the field tomorrow.”

Aethelflaed sighed and nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. Alwin and Mildred’s forces had not arrived and were unlikely to do so. She cursed herself silently for not sending word to them sooner. 

“The warriors may be of better use in the shield wall, Lady,” Edgewulf said, regretfully. “We cannot risk losing our best men in the vanguard.” 

Aethelflaed’s heart fell, her nascent plan guttering out before taking breath. “No. I suppose we cannot.” 

“We must go with a more traditional plan,” Edgar was saying. “We will form the shield wall out of sight, at the crest of the hill, and march forward as Aethelred’s forces approach. We shall meet them shield to shield and by God’s grace, they will fall on our spears.” 

Finan looked disappointed. Edgewulf was caught in thought. Aethelflaed nodded grimly, reluctantly. _The way of things_. That’s what it would be, she supposed. The slaughter of hundreds, and herself a carrion crow amongst it all. 

She heard the horn, a far away sound like the distant cry of a bird. She thought for a moment that it lived only in her mind. But then the blast sounded again, and Edgar and Birger startled and turned towards the noise. There was a fluster of motion in the camp outside and the sounds of hoofbeats, many hoofbeats, and yells of surprise. Birger drew his seax and stood in front of her, between her body and the door of the tent, blocking her as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. She did not have time to think, her heart was in her throat — 

“Lady Aethelflaed!” She saw his face, his body taut and drawn as he entered. She heard the cries of recognition in the camp, the sense of tension breaking, easing. 

“The Danes!” They cried. “The Danish warriors have arrived!” 

Erik was here. Erik had come. He looked at her through the clump of startled men who fringed her in the tent. His eyes were wide and relieved. She let out a breath. Erik was here. She would not face her fate alone. 

They met in the woods, beside the trunk of a great and ancient Oak. Aethelflaed thought it must have been an acorn before her ancestors came to the shores of Britain. The council had disbanded after another endless stretch of talk. The arrival of Erik’s warriors changed everything. In the end, they had agreed to her plan, and would send most of the warriors down on mounts in a reckless charge of surprise attack. It was a great risk, and yet it was her only hope, she thought - the only chance she had to see Aethelred dead without watching her people massacred. In the end, she was too weary to be triumphant, and it was work enough to beat back the doubt and fear that crept in around her. If they failed, she would have only herself to blame. 

The night was deep, but a half moon eased the darkness, illuminating the woods so that the trees cast long shadows, stretched like spears across the ground. Erik pressed his forehead against hers, holding her face between his hands like a precious thing. He smelled of road dirt and sweat, of hot metal and the sweet earthy scent of saddle leather. 

“I am sorry, aelska,” he said, and he kissed her very deeply. His mouth tasted of salt and ale, and she did not mind it. Everything about him roused her. “I am sorry to be so late. I came here as fast as I could, I swear it.” 

“You have come with thirty warriors! You have nothing to apologize for.” She held his hand against her face with her own. “You have saved my hope.” 

His body surrounded her, as warm and solid as the earth. His need simmered off his skin like heat from quenched iron. He was roused out of shyness, driven out of trepidation by the wild urgency of the night and the near miss of their paths in the shadow of the battle to come. She felt it too, and she could not resist his touch either way. 

He took her quickly, fiercely. His kisses still seared on her skin as he lifted her onto his hips, bracing her back against the rough bark of the Oak. Her blood was hot and slow beneath her flesh, so that each touch flushed through her body, making her cry out or whimper breathlessly against him. He was inside of her, plowing into her, and he groaned lowly in her ear. “Gods, Aethelflaed. It is so good to be inside of you.” He spoke against her skin, his mouth rough and open on her throat. She whimpered again, unable to speak. “I could not rest for thoughts of this, aelska, for thoughts of your body, your wet cunt, Aethelflaed—!”

He drove deeper into her and she cried out. Her hands gripped tight on his hair, on the fabric of his tunic, anchoring herself to the solidness of him. His words seemed to live within her, as close as the heat of her own heart. 

They sat together at the base of the Oak. Erik cradled her body against his own as he leaned back against the trunk. They were silent, lost in the lull and flush of their spent pleasure. Erik’s blood still pounded with it, but his hands were light and delicate as he traced them over her shoulders and across the skin of her neck. He slid his good hand down around the soft roundness of her breasts, slipping it inside her tunic to hold one gently as he stroked her nipple with his thumb. She made soft gasping noises at his touch, pressing closer against him. It was so easy to be close to her. He still wondered if he deserved it - her trust, her open, loving touch, the way her eyes flashed with pleasure as he rode her with such fierce need. 

He took his hand out from her tunic, letting it drift down over her stomach. He thought he could feel the roundness of her starting to grow, but it may have just been his imagination. 

“I wish you would not go to battle,” he said, unthinking. 

Aethelflaed stiffened and recoiled, and his hand fell away numbly. “How can you say that?” She said coldly. He had angered her. He wished he could take it back, and return to the easy touch they had shared before. “You touch me like that,” she said. “You ride me _like that_ , you say those things which fill me with such pleasure, I think you must know my own mind better than I know it myself…” 

Erik flushed at the thought of his roughs words, spoken in such need, and how she had cried out in pleasure at hearing them. It had made him come, to hear her moan like that. 

“But then you say that,” she continued. “And it seems you do not know my mind at all.” 

“I am sorry,” he said fervently. “I do not wish to anger you. I fear for you and the babe, is that not a natural thing?” 

“I know,” she said, and her voice had eased a bit. “I know you fear for me, as I fear for you in battle. Will you hold yourself back from the charge, for the sake of my fear?” 

“Aethelflaed —”

“You will say it is not the same,” she said. She rested back against him, although there was still a stiffness to her core that he could sense through the layers of fabric. He did not touch her. He let his hands lay limp beside him. “But I swore to my men that I would fight beside them.I will not be an oathbreaker, Erik.” 

His hands came up to hold her, circling around her waist, and she did not push them away. He pressed his mouth against her shoulder. “I know. I know I cannot stop you, aelska. You are very brave, and you are very precious to me.” He thought of another time when he had called her precious. It felt like an age had passed since then. “You must know, that my love for you…it makes me foolish sometimes.” 

She laughed and eased against him, clasping his hands with her own. “I know it, Erik. The others will try to stop me. I am certain of it. But you…I will need you…” 

“I will not stop you,” he whispered against her, and prayed to all the Gods he knew that he would not regret his oath. 

They walked back together in the fading darkness. The dawn was approaching and the battle would soon follow. Erik thought he might have slept for a few passing moments beneath the Oak, but he could not remember. He could only remember the smell of her against him, like grass and earth and horse sweat, and that sweet indescribable thing that he knew was the scent of her own pleasure. They had loved again, and Erik had let her ride him, and he had not had any sore sickness at the feeling of her straddling him against the Oak. He had held her hips tightly, rocking her so that he rode deeper into her, and pulled down her shift so that he could kiss her breasts and hold the skin of them gently between his teeth. 

As they walked together now, he sensed Aethelflaed’s mind moving quickly beside him, scanning out across the many paths that forked before them all. Would they take the right turn, and ride to victory? Or would they fail and flounder, lost amongst the weeds? 

He was surprised when she spoke. “I am not a man.” Her voice was distant. “But I fear I cannot be a woman either.” Erik almost laughed at the strangeness of her words, but the sound died in his throat. His laughter would have riled her, he realized. He stopped walking and turned to her. 

“I am not sure I take your meaning.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking on her words. “I do not wish to be a man…to use my sword more than my mind, to measure triumph in the loss of life. I do not wish to play by these foul rules.” She fell into silence, and Erik would have spoken, but he thought she might have more to say, and he did not wish to stifle her. 

“But the longer I have lived,” she continued, “the more I have discovered that…there are some men who will never see me unless I hold a knife to their throat. And there are some men…who will only see me as a foolish, useless woman…until I gut them from belly to chin.” The grief in her voice was heavy and thick. 

“Aethelflaed…” He reached out a hand to touch her face. She caught it, diverting it from its mark, but she held it in front of her, lightly stroking his fingers with her own. 

“I know it is not simply lust that draws you to me, Erik. And yet, that is a thorn in my side as well. I know there are men who look at me and see… only something to be ridden.” 

There was a tremor of doubt in Erik’s belly. Was this the kind of man she thought he was? “What are you saying, Aethelflaed? What do you want—?” 

She looked up at him and her eyes were very fierce. “Aethelred,” she said savagely. “He is mine to kill.” 

The words did not shock Erik. But they drove a cold stake of fear into his gut. “Did the Lord Edgar not council…?” 

“Lord Edgar does not know what I know. He does not know my heart. You do, Erik. You must let me kill him. He is _my_ mess to clean up.”

Erik shook his head softly. “It is not the same, Aethelflaed. You are not responsible for Aethelred’s cruelty, as I was for Siegfried’s. It is not the same.” 

“Perhaps it is different. But it feels the same to me. I must kill him, Erik, for the sake of my soul.” She looked out on into the growing dawn, her eyes very far away. When she turned back to him, her voice was quiet and low - almost tender. “Will you let me take my revenge? Or will you stand in my way?”

It had been a long time since Erik had felt the pluck of the spinner’s strands on his shoulders. But the dawn was thick with the sense of fate. He did not know how the paths before him forked, or where they led. He could only keep stepping along the path he saw, dim but clear in the darkness of his mind. 

“When have I ever been able to stop you doing what you wish?” He asked, with a wry smile in his voice. She laughed humorlessly and then looked away in silence. “I will be beside you, if you wish it,” he said quietly. 

She held his hand gently. “I would like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the battle awaits! I think...i think....I'm going to post the rest of the chapters in one big update next Saturday. it feels weird to drop the battle chapters one at a time because it really is just one big climactic moment and it doesn't make sense to break it all up. I'm very proud of the ending chapters, I think it's some of my best writing in this story so far. I'm excited to share them with you!


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, here it goes! I'm posting the rest of the story. I hope you like it! *sweats profusely*

Aethelflaed dressed in her tent with Audr’s help. Over her quilted woolen tunic, she wore her mail shirt and a skirt made of toughly sewn panels of thick leather. Audr helped clasp the mail shirt at the back so that it clung heavily to Aethelflaed’s thin frame. She started to feel very thick and slow with the weight of all her armor. She hoped she would be able to move in it, and to wield the longsword that had been made for her at the smithy in Oxenford. The sword was smaller and lighter than what a full grown man would use, but she thought it would still have good strength and reach to be useful on the field. She swung the sword experimentally and then put it down nervously, feeling stiff and awkward. 

“Your hands are trembling, Lady.” Audr said gently. 

“Oh.” Aethelflaed laughed thinly, looking down at her pale hands. “I suppose they are.” Audr took them within her own. 

“Are you afraid?” 

Aethelflaed let out a breath. “I…I don’t think that I am. I don’t know. I’ve never been to battle before…not like this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.” 

“You look like a warrior,” Audr offered. 

Aethelflaed scoffed. “I do not feel like a warrior.” 

Audr’s face quirked mischievously. “Maybe that’s for the best. I’ve never liked warriors much anyway.” 

Aethelflaed laughed truly at that. She was grateful for Audr’s gentle humor. 

A crack and rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, breaking the moment. Aethelflaed and Audr both looked up warily at the noise. “It is the Thor, God of Thunder, come to the battle,” Audr said quietly, her eyes alight. “My people would say it is an omen.” 

“A good omen?” Aethelflaed asked with concern. “Or an ill omen?” 

“I don’t know.” Audr shrugged. “I’m not a seer!” She added defensively, in response to Aethelflaed’s stare. Aethelflaed laughed gently. 

“No, I suppose you’re not. But you _are_ a healer. Do you have everything you need here? Bandages? Herbs? Clean water?” 

Audr nodded. “Yes, Lady.” 

“The men will need your care,” Aethelflaed said. “I may need your care.” 

Audr moved to clasp her hands again. Her face was filled with emotion as she looked up at Aethelflaed. 

“Try not to die, Lady!” She said fervently. “If you die, then I…I will be left with only the Lord Erik, and…he will be even worse company than he is already.” Audr’s mouth twitched. Aethelflaed laughed, her heart gripped by a wild reckless humor. 

“Try to keep Clufweart out of trouble, will you?” 

Audr scoffed. “I cannot. I will not swear to that, Lady.” They both laughed then, openly and easily, as if they were children, young and carefree. Aethelflaed felt the tension ease in her belly. 

“Lady!” Birger’s face appeared at the tent flap. Aethelflaed and Audr’s laughter died as they looked to him expectantly. “Aethelred’s forces have forded the river! They will be at range within the hour.” 

Aethelflaed and Audr shared a breathless look. “Thank you, Birger.” He nodded and his face disappeared. Audr handed Aethelflaed her helmet. It was a beautiful thing, made of polished iron and hammered bronze, padded to fit her head with thick swabs of wool. 

“May the Gods go with you, Lady,” Audr said. “And your God, too, I suppose,” she added ironically. Aethelflaed laughed again, careless of the blasphemy, and embraced her friend deeply. And then she left, to join the warriors. 

“You cannot fight, Lady. You cannot ride in the vanguard!” Edgar’s face was contorted with shock and outrage under his helmet. Aethelflaed sat astride her mare, her longsword at her hip and Bright-Blood hanging at her belly. Her linden shield was braced against her left arm.

“I will ride in the charge,” she said cooly. 

The warriors were gathering at the edge of the woods, in the hollow dip of the land that made them invisible to Aethelred’s advancing men. Behind them, the men of the fyrd churned in mild confusion, looking for a leader who was busy chiding Aethelflaed. 

“The men need you,” she said pointedly. “You will lead in the shield wall, once we break Aethelred’s line.” 

Edgar tossed his head in frustration. It had been his idea to lead the fyrd. He did not need her to remind him now. “Lady, it is unheard of. Unprecedented! You should wait in safety, behind the shield wall. The victory will still be yours!” 

“I will fight beside my men.” She was like a rock, a great and ancient boulder, unable to be moved or shifted from her course. Edgar withered slightly under her resolve. 

“But Lady—”

Erik pulled astride of her, in the saddle on his broad gray stallion. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him, replete in his mail and helmet, his face as rough and fine as polished stone. It hurt to look at him and not be able to touch him. He smiled at her, but he could not hide the worry in his eyes. 

“Aethelflaed will ride in the charge, Lord Edgar. It is decided,” he explained. 

“Lord Erik —”

“It is done.” Erik’s voice held no apology. “We must ready the men to ride now.” 

Edgar’s protests subsided into a low growl in his throat. He turned with a flourish of his cape to march back towards the fyrd. “If you are killed, do not blame me!” He called over his shoulder. Aethelflaed smiled to herself. 

“Thank you,” she said softly to Erik. 

“He is insolent,” Erik nodded over his shoulder toward Edgar. 

“He is loyal,” Aethelflaed countered. “But yes, he is insolent,” she added, smiling. “Insolence and loyalty are not always badly matched.”

“I suppose not.” They sat beside each other in silence for a long moment, looking out at the crest of the hill. There was an infinite number of things to say to each other, and yet nothing that was necessary to speak into that quiet moment. Aethelflaed’s arms and legs buzzed with a numb, tingling sense of fate. The air was ripe with it. A crack and rumble of thunder overhead only served to thicken the feeling. 

Erik looked at the sky and back towards her face. “It is an omen, Lady.” 

“So I have heard.” The sky flashed again, cracking like the wicked grin of a God, and the thunder bellowed in reply. The moment tensed, and pulsed, and Erik looked at her fiercely, suddenly moved to speak. 

“Aethelflaed,” his voice was barely more than a whisper. “If something happens…if we are separated, or…if we are lost to each other…” Aethelflaed swallowed. She felt the trembling return to her hands. “You know that…” he stopped and starting, shaking his head. “You know the truth of it. That I am yours. Always.” 

“I know it, Erik.” Her own voice sounded very far away. “As I am yours.” 

“If I am lost…know that I…I have no regrets. None besides the fact that you will not find me in your heaven, and I will not find you in Valhalla.” 

“Erik—” Aethelflaed felt tears springing to her eyes. There was an ache in her throat she could not quell. 

But she could not respond, for Birger came galloping along the edge of the wood, making a line directly for them. He was breathless and full of manic energy, as sharp and as wild as the approaching storm. “They are nearly within range!” He cried. His spear swung from a loop on his saddle. “We must be ready.” 

Aethelflaed turned towards Erik, her mind suddenly clear and her pulse very strong in her throat. “You must speak to the men,” she said. “You must drive them to the charge.” 

Erik’s eyes widened. “Is it not…better suited for you, Lady? Most of them are your men.” 

Aethelflaed shook her head. “They are our men, Erik. Please. It is my own heart that needs rising as well.”

He looked at her for a breath, then nodded and turned his horse, riding against the line of horses that jostled into tight position. When he spoke, his voice was low and fierce, trying to conceal the sound of his speech from the oncoming enemy. 

“Some of you fight for glory,” he said, “and some of you for silver, some of you for the pure unfettered joy of it!” Finan raised his sword in a playful cheer. His horse was stationed near to Aethelflaed, and Sihtric and Osferth numbered among the warriors as well. Osferth looked stiff and nervous in the saddle. Aethelflaed hoped he would not die. “Some of you,” Erik was saying, “some of you fight to take vengeance on those who have killed your blood brothers!” Aetheflaed saw Edgewulf raise his sword, and she remembered that she had promised him vengeance for the death of Deagol, who was his closest friend. It felt like a very long time ago, but it had not even been two moons past. “And some of you,” Erik continued, “some of you fight for Mercia, for this land which is your home. You fight for the glory of Mercia, and for the promise of peace between Saxons and Danes!” There was a low crowing of assent from the men. 

“But whatever it is you fight for, we must stand together now. We must stand together and we must die together, and die well - if that is to be our fate. For whether you are going to heaven, or to Valhalla, we shall all be welcomed into the high halls of our Gods. So let us meet them in glory and show no fear as we face our fates!” 

The thunder rumbled low and loud, drowning the sound of men pounding swords against shields. Erik looked to the sky, his face alight with fierceness. He made some sign that Aethelflaed did not know. She reckoned it was a greeting to his wild thunder god. In a flash the sky opened up, and rain began to fall in thick sheets. The sound of wet hissing and the bright ping of droplets on metal helms filled the air. 

“Are we not warriors?!” Erik yelled over the rising din of the rain. The men cheered back, all caution gone, the almost-taste of battle loosing their tongues. “Then ride with me, men of Mercia!!” Erik caught Aethelflaed’s eye as he turned his horse. She would remember the sight of his gray-blue eyes, wide and unafraid as he charged into battle, for the rest of her life. 

“CHARGE!” he cried. Aethelflaed’s whole body thrummed. Erik rode down the hill, and they followed. 


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic violence

Erik could hear nothing but the roar. It was the crack and rumble of thunder, it was the pounding rhythm of hoofbeats, it was the rushing metal din of rain against iron. It was the crush of battle rage within his own head. It was deafening. 

But still, he led the charge, and the horsemen flowed like a sluice of stormwater down the hill, a torrent of death come to meet Aethelred’s men. They were shocked, Erik could see, at the sight of the warriors, they were scrambling and churning in chaos and confusion. A handful of riders road abreast of Aethelred’s fyrd, but most marched on foot. Men bellowed commands, spears bristled, shields unfurled like painted wings. But they never could have formed the wall in time. 

Erik sliced into their feeble line, his horse like a well shot arrow, his spear outstretched, its tip slick and sharp in the downpour. A man died on his spearpoint, his eyes wide and rolling, his mouth open in a scream. Erik could hear nothing but the roar. Erik whirled around to see the mass of warriors behind him - his warriors, Aethelflaed’s warriors. He searched for her form amongst them - her chestnut mare, her blue painted shield - but the rain blurred his vision into a wet and misty haze. He saw only death, raining down from the horsemen like the hammer of Thor himself. 

Erik raised the polished horn to his lips, the one that hung loosely around his neck, and he sounded it twice, using all the breath in his chest. Its cry must have pierced through the din, for some of the warriors turned to look at him. He grabbed his axe and swung it above his head, pointing further back into the mass of Aethelred’s men. 

“To Aethelred!” He screamed. “We must kill Aethelred!” He knew his voice would be lost, but his meaning was clear. He charged again, and felt them mass and swarm around him, following his lead. They drove together like a spear point, deeper into the churning fyrd, trying to pierce through the layers of Aethelred’s protection. 

But Erik saw that Aethelred’s own warriors gathered in a low point of the field, forming their own line. A wild-eyed man in mail screamed to the warriors, turning his horse sharply. Erik saw the bloody foam at the horse’s mouth, and then the enemy warriors charging at them, forming their own battering ram of horses, and men, and sharpened blades. Erik swerved, veering to the right, dodging the vanguard of oncoming attack. He realized with some panic that his men had been split, diverted to either side of the enemy men. The rain still fogged the field, and Erik could only see shadows, gray shades of dying men, and killing men, amidst the haze. _Aethelflaed_ , he thought wildly. _Where was Aethelflaed?_

But then he found himself facing an enemy man, the biggest Saxon he had ever seen. The man threw a spear, and Erik lurched and dodged, slicing the spear haft away from him with a swing of his axe. The man had his own axe and charged, swinging at Erik’s chest. It would have broken his mail, he thought, it would have sliced through his flesh and crushed his ribs and stolen the breath from his lungs. But he threw himself backwards in his saddle, rolling away from the blow, ripping his feet from their holds so that his ankles seized and twisted. He cried out in shock and pain as he hit the wet ground. The roar was louder in his ears now, but the Saxon’s voice still cut through it. 

“You will die now, Dane,” he said. The Saxon had lost his spear, but his sword was long enough. He swung it down in an arc from the saddle and Erik rolled, dizzy and dazed from his fall. His axe still hung loosely in his hand, and he flung it out now, hacking at the legs of the man’s horse, so that it screamed and buckled beneath him. The Saxon roared in fury, rolling from the saddle to avoid being crushed. 

His face was seized with blood-rage as he fell on top of Erik, straddling him, pinning him with thick-gloved hands around his neck so that the breath was choked from his throat. Erik’s vision started to dim, fading at the edges, but he could see the man’s blond mustache, dripping with rain, and the pox scars on the skin of his cheeks, and his bare and balding head. 

_The man had no helmet_. It must have fallen off in the fall, or perhaps he had never worn one, as some pompous and cavalier men were known to do. Erik could not remember now. His hand twitched feebly on his axe and swung up loosely, trying to strike a blow against the man’s skull. It glanced off, but not before slicing into his temple and making the man scream in surprise and pain. His hands loosened on Erik’s neck and Erik took his chance, driving all his weight upwards and over to turn the man. They rolled and wrestled for a long moment - the man’s strength far outstripped Erik’s own - but Erik crashed his head into the man’s nose, hearing it crunch wetly beneath the iron of his helm. He did not stop, but drove his head at the man’s face again and again, bracing his own neck against the blows. He was screaming as he struck, and he felt the blood in his mouth and tasted it - salty and hot. Whether it was the Saxon’s or his own, he could not say. When he finally surfaced, the man was dead. All that remained of his face was a bloody smear. 

Erik’s own head was like a raw plum, overripe and fit to burst. He staggered up, dazed and retching, clutching at his throat which still burned and ached. A mounted warrior approached through the mist, and Erik startled and turned, raising his axe, which was the only weapon left to him now. 

“Erik! Lord Erik!” It was Birger emerging into sight, and he led Erik’s own mount behind him. Erik’s shield still hung, secured to the saddle. His spear was gone. 

“Birger!” He cried in reckless joy, the lust for life that came with the death and stench of battle. His voice was very hoarse. He scrambled up onto the back of his gray stallion, his heart full of wild, aching relief. 

“Where is Aethelflaed?” He yelled the words into the rain.

“I do not know!” Birger screamed back against the din. “I lost her in the countercharge!” Erik wheeled his horse, which stamped and groused and mewed lightly in discomfort and frustration. Erik patted the horse’s neck and murmured to him gently, reminding him that they were friends. 

“I cannot see anything, Birger!” He yelled again. “We must find her!” Birger nodded and they rode level with each other, slicing back towards the foray. 

The spear seemed to come out of nowhere. It sailed through the air, as if sent by the Gods, and hit Birger in the chest. Erik heard the rip and crunch of metal, as it punched through Birger’s mail, breaking the bonds of the metal rings. Erik cried out, watching Birger’s face go white and bloodless. 

The warrior came out of the mist to finish his kill, but Erik’s body was seized with the frenzy of vengeance. He buried his axe in the man’s belly and heard it hit with a wet _thunk_. He did not know if it bit through the mail or not, but the man slid off his horse, his hands stiff and useless as they fumbled for his reins. Erik did not bother to finish the kill. He turned back to Birger, hearing the slick crunch of the man’s body, crushed beneath the hooves of his own mount. 

Birger was slumped over on his horse. The spear had fallen from its mark, leaving a gaping wound in the right side of Birger’s chest, below the shoulder. Blood pooled from the wound, mixing with rain to drip like weak wine from the tips of Birger’s fingers. 

Erik did not think. He pulled astride of Birger, lifting the man gently, trying to pull him onto his own mount without causing him too much pain. Birger twisted and cried out, and there was a tense, wild moment when Erik thought they would both fall into the blood-soaked mud. But then Birger eased into place in front of him. Erik held him close, bracing him against his body in the saddle. He could do nothing for Birger’s horse, only hope it was not killed in the chaos.

Birger was whimpering slightly. Each breath came out as a cry. “Leave me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You must find Aethelflaed!” 

Erik turned his horse away from the battle. “I must get you to Audr at the camp,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and level. 

“You cannot leave the field!” Birger gasped. “It is not worth it.”

“Your life is worth it!” Erik said tensely. 

The path back to the camp was blocked by the approaching shield wall. They came in the wake of the warriors to scour the field. Erik turned towards the woods without hesitation. He could break a path there, through the Eastern edge of the treeline. Birger himself had scouted there only that morning - it could not have been more than an hour ago. Time stretched and ebbed around him, like a coarse, unruly sea. 

Erik rode into the woods, away from the fight.

Aethelflaed had never known anything like it. She had been in battle before - on the smoke-strewn beach at the crook of the Thames where Siegfried’s men had taken her, where all of this had begun. But she had been helpless then, unarmed and unable to defend herself. It was different now, even though the rain brought its own wicked chaos. Aethelflaed rode as a warrior. She had feared that her arm would ache under the weight of her longsword, that her body would crumple under the strain of her mail. But she felt oddly weightless, as if she were floating, a specter of death on a chestnut mare. 

Aldun cleaved to her side, never letting her more than a horse’s length away from him. Finan too seemed to lurk always in an arc around her. She wondered if Uhtred had ordered him to protect her with his life. _Or Gisula_ , she thought wryly. It did not bother her, although she wished it could be Erik fighting by her side, as they had promised. She had ridden behind him, trying to follow his horse in the charge, but now he was lost in the haze. 

She did not cut down foot soldiers as she rode, although it would have been easy. She would not take a running man in the back with her blade. But then a man cast his axe out, trying to chop at the legs of her horse and she sliced across his face with her sword. She did not look back, she continued to charge, cleaving through the mass of panicked men. She needed to find Aethelred. 

Aethelred’s warriors came like ghosts, seething from the dim haze in their own harried charge. Aethelflaed cried out as a horse reared in front of her and one of her warriors rolled and fell from the saddle. She veered to the left, avoiding the oncoming death, and Aldun’s horse screamed as he wrenched the reins to keep pace with her. She stalled a bit in the confusion, turning in circles to try to find her place on the field. A sword swung towards her, wielded by a warrior with a long red scar across his face. 

She met his blow, stopping his blade with her own and they were stuck there for a moment, locked together silently. Aethelflaed was not strong enough to push his blade back, but she could hold it, keeping it from gouging into her face. After a breath, the warrior slid his sword off of hers with the high grating scrape of metal on metal. He raised his blade again and Aethelflaed brought her shield up, blocking the blow that would have sliced down into her neck. 

Aldun cried out in distress. “Lady!” 

The man’s eyes went round at Aldun’s call, realizing it was a woman he fought, realizing, perhaps, that it was _the_ woman whose death could end it all. The shock stalled him and slackened his arm. Aethelflaed plunged her sword into his throat, where the soft flesh was pale and moist and naked of mail. She pulled the sword out with a wild scream, and watched the man fall, blood flowing like a red river from his neck. 

Aethelflaed’s shield wall was approaching from the rear, kettling Aethelred’s fyrd between themselves and the churning melee of warriors. Aethelflaed saw some of her warriors turn as if to hunt down the trapped men and slaughter them. 

She spurred her horse, turning against the flow of her own men. “This is not a slaughter!” She screamed, as low and as loud as she could. “If the men surrender, you will give them their lives!” Some of the warriors eyes flashed towards her, and she hoped they heard. She hoped they understood. But she could not ignore the glazed look of blood hunger that glowed in their faces. 

Finan was beside her, breathless on his stallion. “Lady,” he cried into the roar, “Aethelred - he is there!” He pointed down the field, where a low hollow was visible. The rain was easing a bit, and the mist still sprung from the earth, but Aethelflaed could see him, his face white below his crowned helmet, his blue cape hanging limp and drenched around his mailed shoulders. He was fringed by warriors who guarded him with their lives. 

“We must fight to him, Finan!” She screamed. "He is mine to kill!” Finan nodded. Aethelflaed looked around wildly, searching for Erik’s form amid the bloody mess of the battle. The absence of him in her vision felt like a hole in her mind, a tear in her plans. He was needed beside her, but he was not there. She turned, her heart in chaos, and charged back into the foray.

Aethelred’s face was closer now. She could see it twist with fear and disdain as he screamed a command to the warriors around him. Three of them charged at the attackers, their swords drawn and their faces rent with battle cries. One was skewered on Finan’s spear. His helmet tumbled and rolled over the muddy clumps of grass as he fell. Edgewulf was riding near Aethelflaed, surging towards Aethelred’s defense. His face was livid with battle rage as he cut down one man, slicing him across the throat with a short sword. He did not stop but pushed further ahead, and Aethelflaed watched in silent horror as a spear took him through the gut. She could not hear his dying scream. 

The battle frenzy was seeping slowly from Aethelflaed’s body. Now she could feel the pain in her wrist, where her shield was strapped tightly to her. She could feel metal lip of her helmet digging painfully into her nose bone. She could feel a ragged, burning ache in her foot. It was a wound, she knew, delivered by a wayward axe which had sliced through her ankle but did not reach the bone. It was dripping blood, smearing the side of her mare with streaks of wet redness. In the wake of the frenzy, her limbs filled with heavy, aching dread, a cold deadness that stole up her spine from the wet ground, where the corpses of her men bled out and stiffened. Her mind pulsed over and over with the same question - _where is Erik?_ But it was like an unseen beacon fire, guttering on a lonely mountain. No one answered the call.

But Aethelred was still in reach, and the men around him had been cut down by half, and Aethelflaed could not say how exactly it happened, but soon he was surrounded. Her own warriors circled his meager band of men, pointing their spears inward. Aethelflaed looked behind her, to the shield wall, where the rest of Aethelred’s army was trapped. The sound of clattering spears filled the air, which was suddenly quiet with the lack of rain. She did not know if their spears fell in surrender, or whether they tumbled limply from dying hands. 

“You are surrounded, Aethelred.” She spoke loudly as she spurred her horse up to face him. Her men parted to let her through. “Your men are defeated.” Aldhelm sat astride on his mount beside Aethelred, her husband’s last feeble defense. “Get down from your horse and I will let you die with honor.” 

Aethelred spat. His face was full of poison, his eyes drawn with cruel rage. She had seen that expression more times than she could count. It used to drive a wedge of fear into her belly, but she felt nothing now. “I will not surrender to you,” Aethelred hissed. “You heathen whore. You bitch! I would sooner die on my own sword than surrender to you.”

“No,” Aethelflaed said fiercely. “ _I_ will kill you, Aethelred. Get down off your horse!” Aldhelm sat very stiffly in his saddle, his sword drawn lightly in front of him. 

“Lord,” he tried to say. “Lord —”

“Kill them, Aldhelm!” Aethelred cried savagely. “Kill them! Or are you a coward as well as a fool?!”

Aldhelm moved in his saddle, and Aethelflaed surged forward, hoping to cut off his attack before it could begin. But then Aldhelm turned. Aethelflaed was confused, her own sword was drawn, ready to strike, but Aldhelm’s blade cut back and sliced upwards, into Aethelred’s throat. 

Aethelred seemed as shock as she was. His mouth moved wordlessly, his arms outstretched to grasp at Aldhelm. He tried to pull the sword from his neck, but his hands had no strength. His life was leaving him. He fell off his horse, landing face down in the mud. The wet ground drove the hilt further in, so that the blade emerged from his back, bursting forth like a monstrous seedling. He lay still. 

Aethelflaed felt a cry of anger rise in her throat. It seared like flame through her chest, making her hands shake with rage. Aethelred was dead, and she had not wielded the blade. 


	55. Chapter 55

Aldhelm knelt before her. His wet and bloodied sword trembled slightly in his hand. He had retrieved it from Aethelred’s corpse, turning the body gingerly with his foot and pulling the sword with a wet squelching sword. He drove the tip of it into the ground and clasped the hilt tightly with both hands. Aldhelm had once struck her at Aethelred’s command. It was a strange thing to see him knelt before her now. 

“Lady Aethelflaed,” he said, his voice full of weariness. “I surrender my life to you.” Aethelflaed spurred her horse forward towards him, biting back the anger that still rose in her at her stolen kill. She took off her helmet, groaning as the wet wool chafed against the skin of her temples. She handed it wordlessly to Aldun. She wanted to see Aldhelm’s face clearly as she killed him. 

“But before you cast your judgement on me,” he continued urgently, stopping her in her tracks. “Let me say this: I pledge my sword to you, Lady Aethelflaed. I pledge my life and my loyalty, to act on your command, to fight for you and die for you if necessary, and to carry out your will in all things.” 

Aethelflaed did not understand. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her pulse quickening. He was swearing to her, here on the field. He had killed Aethelred, he had betrayed his master and stolen her kill, but now he knelt before her and pledged an oath. She opened her mouth - to stop him? To challenge him? But he spoke again. “I swear it on my sword, and on the soil of Mercia which is my home. May God strike me down if I break my oath.” 

Aethelflaed could not speak. She looked around urgently, suddenly uncertain what she should do. The ground seemed to shift beneath her and her mind stumbled over it, silencing her voice. Where was Erik? Why was he not beside her? 

Her attention was drawn by the remainder of Aethelred’s guard, Aldhelm’s men, who followed his example now, kneeling with their swords placed ceremonially before them.

“The Mercian guard is yours, Lady. We fight at your command.” 

Another man stepped forward, an older warrior, his gray beard streaked with drying blood. He pulled off his helmet, casting it before him, and knelt, sword in hand. “Lady Aethelflaed, I am Wiglaf, son of Witgar, aeldorman of Wircester under your late husband. I pledge to you, Lady, that I may serve loyally under your command, that I may hold my lands in your name, and that my men may fight beside you, and bring you victory in all things. I swear it, on my sword, and on the blood of my ancestors who have long called Mercia home.” 

Aethelflaed finally found her voice, although her mind still spun. “Lord Wiglaf, Lord Aldhelm…” she started, but was interrupted by a cry behind her. 

“Lady—!” It was Edgar, riding up from the shield wall. His eyes were wide and confused, his face drawn in shock as he took in the men kneeling before her. She tried to speak, to explain what was happening, to explain that it was outside of her control. But his face was already changing, dawning with realization of the shifting ground beneath him. When he spoke again, his voice was deep and formal. 

“Lady Aethelflaed, you know my sword is yours.” He dismounted and knelt. “But I pledge my oath anew to you now, that I may serve you bravely and loyally. For the sake of Mercia, for the sake of my people, I swear to you, Aethelflaed, Lady of Mercia!” 

He drew his sword up in a dramatic gesture and beat his shield rhythmically with the blade. “To the Lady of Mercia!” He cried again, and the call was echoed by the other kneeling men. 

“To the Lady of Mercia!” _The Lady of Mercia_. The thunder was gone, but the clatter and rumble of steel on wood tumbled down the hillside in its place. 

She should have felt triumphant. But there was something cold within her. She looked out, across the corpses of the slain, their eyes wide and empty as they stared into the sky. The crows would come soon. 

She saw him finally, across the field, closer to the camp. He was not a corpse. Erik stood tall and stiff, watching her and the scene unfolding before her. She could not see the details of his face, only the shape of him, taut against the clearing grey sky. Someone called him and he turned, and quickly faded from her sight. Aethelflaed’s heart was a stone in her chest.

She stumbled numbly to the woods, dragging her wounded foot like a limp weight behind her. No men followed her, which was a small wonder. She had commanded them to find the wounded and scavenge weapons from the dead. She had slipped away in the space between their awareness. There was only one person she would wish to see now, and in his absence, she would rather be alone. 

There was a stuckness in her chest, a cold, aching feeling that she could not describe. She could give no voice or sound to it. It was the feeling of watching her men die, of watching Edgewulf gutted by a spear. It was the feeling of seeing Aethelred’s silent scream and knowing her vengeance to be lost. It was the feeling of deep, shuddering grief that her own body tried to shake from her now, loosing it before it settled in her bones and lived there for the rest of her days. 

There was another grief too, but she could not think on it, she could not let it even move from the dark shadows of her awareness. She would let it die there in the darkness, she thought, and never give it light, and then it would never come to pass. That is what she told herself. 

Her foot was aching wickedly now, and she knew she would need to see Audr. But she could walk no further, for her legs began to buckle beneath her and she braced herself against the thick trunk of a tree. It was a large and ancient Oak. She fell to her knees then, and could not stop the weeping which swallowed her like a dark wave.

He found her in the woods, kneeling over her discarded sword, clutching her chest tightly as if trying to hold herself together. She raised herself shakily at the sound of his approaching footsteps. At the sight of his face, she gasped in relief and renewed grief. It was wet, bruised, soaked in rain and blood. There was a swelling red gouge of a scrape along his neck and jaw. But he was alive. That was all that mattered. 

“Erik!” She could not hide her tears. They swelled her eyes and choked her nose. But she tried anyway, sniffing noisily and wiping her face with her bloody hands. 

“Are you wounded, Lady?” His voice was full of mingled concern and relief.

“No,” she said quickly. She hid her wound from him, tucking her bleeding foot in a root of the Oak. She could not say why. “I am well, I am—I could not find you, Erik.”

“I was…with Birger,” he said. His face was twisted, and Aethelflaed felt her blood run cold. 

“What has happened? Erik — has he perished?” 

Erik shook his head and would not meet her eye. “He was gravely wounded. But Audr is tending him. He is lost to the wound sleep now, but…I think he will live.”

He held himself back from her. She could not ignore it, although she tried.

“That is good,” Aethelflaed said, earnestly, her eyes still hungrily roaming over him, silently willing him to come to her. “I am glad, Erik, I am —”

He was closer to her now, his face swam in front of hers. She tried desperately to hold back the tears that swelled in her eyes. 

“Aethelflaed,” he said gently. “Aethelflaed, you have won!” There was true pleasure in his face, but his eyes were stricken with some other emotion.

“Erik—” She was pleading with her voice and with her eyes, with everything but her words which she could not speak - not without loosing the truth inexorably into the space between them. 

“It is yours, Aethelflaed,” he said, and she choked at the words, which could not be taken back, not now. “Finan…he has told me all. They have sworn to you, they -”

“No, Erik. Stop. You do not mean what you say.” Her voice was very fierce and ragged with her weeping. 

“Do not hate me, Aethelflaed.” He was pleading. She could not hold it back any longer. She lost herself in small, quiet sobs. “Do not hate me for saying what we both know to be true.” 

“No.” She was commanding him now, or trying to. “I cannot give you up. I cannot - I cannot do this without you, Erik.” 

“You can!” He was not weeping, and the fact of it tore at her. “You already have, Aethelflaed. _You_ have done this - not me. I cannot…” His voice cracked over the words and she saw his grief then, bleeding out around the edges of his steely resignation. “I cannot claim you now, Aethelflaed. It would dishonor me. It would dishonor us both.” 

Aethelflaed was desperate in her denial. She would have given anything to avert the fate that hurtled towards her. “We will lead together, Erik, as you said! We —”

“No, Aethelflaed.” Erik clasped her hands firmly within in his own. He did not flinch as she wept. He did not take her in his arms. “They are loyal to _you_. They will not follow me. I will not take this from you, Aethelflaed. I cannot, do not ask me to! I will not own you!” 

His voice was fierce, almost angry, and Aethelflaed pulled her hands away from him, burying her face and her sobs within them. 

“Erik! Please.” She gasped. “I love you. I love you, Erik and the truth of it — I cannot speak it or give words to it, it lives so deep within me, Erik.” She drew her breath in raggedly and looked at him through a veil of falling tears. “I will never stop cursing this world for taking that from us.” Her voice was fierce with despair. 

His composure was cracking more deeply, as he met her in pain. He lifted his hands to his face and dropped them. He paced and made a low groaning cry like a wounded bear. 

“You will make a better world, Aethelflaed. I am certain of it.” His voice was iron on stone. 

“And what of our child?” She asked, breathlessly. “What world will they live in?” 

Erik’s face crumpled at her words, and silent tears slid down his face. “The child — the child will be Aethelred’s, in the eyes of the law.” He gasped the words out, barely able to speak them. “And I — I will do what is best for them. Whatever that may be.” 

He was backing away slowly, his face carved with bitterness and grief. 

“So you make me an oathbreaker, Erik!” The anger rose to her throat. It was easier to feel than the raw and and wrenching loss that threatened to swallow her whole. Her hands fumbled at the clasp of her belt, where Bright-Blood hung sheathed. She held the seax out to him, her arm trembling slightly. 

Erik shook his head, his hands held up in front of him. “No, Aethelflaed. It is yours. You have broken no oath —” His eyes were pleading. 

“Take it back, Erik. If this is what you want, you must take it back—”

“I do not want this, Aethelflaed!” He cried bitterly. “You must know that I —” His voice died in his throat. He shook his head, his eyes closed. His breath was a gasp in his chest. He pushed the seax back towards her. His hands were hot and searing on hers for a fleeting moment. “I release you, from any oath you have sworn to me. The sword is yours.” 

He was moving away now, and Aethelflaed stepped towards him, trying to pull him back with her body. Her heart was breaking and begging within her, desperate and wild. “Erik!” 

“I will always love you, Aethelflaed. Never…never doubt that.” He wiped his face quickly and fixed her with a desperate glance. “I must go. I must go now.” 

He stumbled away towards the field, and Aethelflaed was left alone and undone. Only the trees stood quiet vigil for her grief. 


	56. Epilogue

“So. You are the Lady of Mercia now.” Alfred’s mouth was a thin line, his eyes dark under tightly drawn brows. 

“Have I not always been? Since I was wed to Aethelred?” 

Alfred’s eyes flashed, and he fixed her with a long-suffering look. “You know what I meant, Aethelflaed.” 

They were in Uhtred’s hall at Coccham. In a petty flourish of power-grabbing, Alfred had taken over the hall, outfitting it with candles and crosses, forcing Uhtred to glower in the shadows while Alfred’s men ate down the last of his larder. Aethelflaed knew Uhtred seethed at the slight. She hoped her visit now would release what cause Alfred had to stay in Coccham any longer. 

Uhtred was not in the hall with them. Alfred had commanded to speak to his daughter alone, only allowing a fringe of guards along the doorway. Aethelflaed might have been anxious once, to face her father’s wrath alone. But she felt no fear now. 

She nodded in response to her father’s glare. “The Mercian lords have sworn to me, yes. I hold Mercia…in my own name.” 

Alfred’s mouth twisted. “Not in _my_ name?” 

“That depends, Father.” Her voice was cold. “Would you have faced me on the field?” 

He stood stiffly at her words. His face was fierce as he spoke. “What I do, I do for the people of Wessex and the people of Mercia who will one day join us, united as Angle-cyne. If you had forced my hand, I would not hesitate, Aethelflaed. Despite all that I have done for you…and for the sake of your honor.” 

“ _My honor_ …of course,” she said bitterly, looking away. 

“Do you know the rumors I have heard of you, daughter? I cannot even bring myself to repeat them here, but I… _must_ believe they are untrue.” 

“Believe what you wish, father. People will always tell stories. I cannot let them destroy me.” 

“And was it just a _story_ , that your Uncle Aethelwulf told me? When he wrote to me to say that you sought a marriage with the Northman Erik Thurgilson? The man who was your captor?” 

Aethelflaed had braced herself. She had known that this was coming. It did not stop her body from shuttering in on itself at the sound of his name. 

“He was my ally, father. He still is, I hope. He helped me defeat Aethelred on the field. But..” She swallowed, working with effort to keep her face a perfectly composed mask. “The proposal has been dissolved.” 

Alfred was silent for a while, his face steely. The beams of light that slid through the hall illuminated the fine white hairs of his head and beard and deepened the lines of his face.

“What of the stories of Aethelred?” She asked, her eyes narrowed. “The stories that he treated with the Lord Siegfried to destroy Wessex and name himself King of Mercia? The stories that he tried to kill me and my men? Do you believe those? Because unlike heresay, I _know_ them to be true.” 

It was Alfred’s turn to look away, his face etched with frustration. “So then, you have secured Mercia,” he said, finally, and she supposed it was the most recognition she was likely to get from him. “For a few years, at best,” he continued. Aethelflaed’s small flame of hope guttered out. “You have no heir, the succession is not assured, you are too young to remain a widow. You will have to marry again, someone more suitable this time. An aeldorman agreed upon by the Witans of Wessex and Mercia together.” 

Aethelflaed took a breath. “I will not marry again, Father.”

Alfred looked at her with unmasked condescension. “Aethelflaed. You must know that is impossible.”

“I am with child.” The words were small, simple things. But they landed as heavy as iron bars. 

Alfred’s face flared. He was frozen in shock for a moment, then looked to the guards at the door. Aethelflaed’s heart stuttered a bit. Would he have her seized? Imprisoned? 

“Leave us,” he commanded. “All of you.”

The guards shuffled out, and Aethelflaed stared at him in silent anger, her heart racing in her chest. 

“What have you done, Aethelflaed?” 

“I do not know what you mean, Father.” 

His nostrils flared slightly. “When you came to me at Candlemas, you admitted you had not seen Aethelred in weeks. And you have been at war with him ever since. So I ask you again. What. have. you. done?”

Aethelflaed’s temper flared. “I have secured Mercia, father! I have offered the Danes and the Northmen friendship and they have rewarded me with service and loyalty! I have built bonds of trust across Watling Street - something you seem incapable of doing - and I have ensured that the lines of Wessex and Mercia remain bound…within my child.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she did not look away from Alfred’s fierce eyes. 

“It is not Aethelred’s child,” he said, and he turned his head in disgust as he spoke, as if swallowing a bad taste. “It cannot be.” 

Aethelflaed let her breath out slowly. “The truth, and the truth in the eyes of the law - they are two different things.” 

Alfred’s head was in his hands. He looked up at her for a long time with longing and regret. 

“You have shamed me, daughter. You have shamed us all.” Aethelflaed blinked, surprised by the tears that bloomed behind her eyelids at his words. “But you have given me no choice…which I suppose was your plan all along.” He sighed loudly, sitting back in his chair, and when he looked at her again, there was less anger in his face. She was grateful for that. “I will honor your claim in Mercia.” Aethelflaed’s eyes widened and her pulse quickened. “And I will honor the legitimacy of your child. For the sake of _England_.” She nodded, slightly dumbstruck. “And no one,” he continued. “No one will _ever_ know the truth.” 

Erik’s love still lived within her, like the child he had sown. It was a small burning thing, like an ember lost among dying coals. She felt it flare now, warm and bright and aching. But it did not set her alight. 

She nodded, sealing the pact with her father. “No one will ever know.” 

Erik waited at Aegelsburgh. It had been a season since he had been there, in the dead of winter, at the darkest days of Geoltide. Now the fields of grain were shooting up towards the sky, the pastures thick with white-fleeced lambs. The apple trees were blooming in the orchard, and the smell seemed to follow him wherever he went, slick and sweet like a woman’s body. 

But Aethelflaed was not there. He did not know when she would return. They said she had gone to Wessex, to treat with her father, and then further to Lundenburgh, to secure some business there. The rumors said that she had traded the port town to Wessex in exchange for her father’s recognition of her title. Now Alfred would collect the rich tariffs that came off the ships that traveled from across the wide northern seas to ply their trade up the Thames. And Aethelflaed would be Lady - in her own name. 

Birger still convalesced at Aegelsburgh, and Erik spent much of his time there with his friend, trying to goad Birger into weak-willed laughter with poor jokes. When Birger slept, as he did most of the day, Erik simply tried to bide his time, and avoid overdrinking in his idleness. 

“I remember you,” he said, to the dark-haired wealh woman who refilled his ale mug as he sat sullenly in Aethelflaed’s empty hall. She gave him a sharp look and stopped, allowing him to speak to her. “You manage Lady Aethelflaed’s household here?” 

“I am Brione,” she said, nodding. “I remember you too, Dane.” Erik smiled slightly. There was a deep scar across her face, a puckered red line that stretched from her eye down to her jaw.

“I do not remember that,” he said gravely. 

She sighed and sat down beside him, and he was grateful for her ease. He had never been a Lord to her. It was better that way. “Aethelred’s work,” she explained. “When he captured the fortress. I…could not escape.” 

“I am sorry,” Erik said. 

Brione shrugged. “It is done.” She looked at Erik’s face again, her eyes narrowing. “You were her man, no?” 

Erik nodded into his cup, hiding his face with a sip of ale. There was a double meaning to her words, they both knew. When he surfaced, she was looking at him meaningfully, a wry smile on her face. There was some sympathy in her eyes, he was shamed to see. He turned away, and she stood up to leave. 

“Wait,” he said, his voice dry. She looked back at him. “Why…why do you stay? Why do you stay for her? You have known such suffering in her service.” He found himself oddly hungry for her answer. It was a curious thing, to know what common people thought of her. It eased something within him, although he could not say why. 

Brione raised her eyebrows and leaned back casually on the table. She refilled his mug again as she thought. “Where else would I go?” She asked finally. “When I first met her, she was just another noble lady. There is nothing special about that.” 

“But…?” Erik suggested, feeling awkward. 

“But now…now, I suppose, there is no one else like her in the entire world.” She smiled again. “I think I will stay.” 

Aethelflaed returned a few days later. He did not greet her when she arrived. He waited, until she had rested, and he too, had collected himself. It would be hard to look at her. He would do all he could to harden his heart, and still it would be a trial. 

He found her in the hall, where she sat in council. Her face was weary, tanned from the road. Her body was rounder, the shape of her child emerging slightly from her loose and flowing gowns. Erik looked away from the sight of it. It was easier that way. 

She stood as he approached, her eyes growing wide in surprise. But he did not look straight at her face, and so he could not see what else it held. “Erik?” 

He bowed slightly, keeping his eyes downcast. “You should call me Thurgil, Lady.” It was better not to hear his own name on her tongue. 

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and smoothed her gowns. Her hands rested for a moment on her belly. “Thurgil,” she corrected. “I did not expect to see you here.” 

“I realized we had parted, and I had not —” he wished they were alone, so no one else could witness his awkwardness. And he was very grateful that they were not. He cut off his words and lowered himself onto one knee. Aethelflaed made a noise in her throat. 

“What—”

“I pledge to you my sword, Lady Aethelflaed, and I pledge to my life. I, Erik, Son of Thurgil, swear on my sword and on my life, that I will come to your aid whenever you may need it. I am yours to command, for as long as I live, or until the day you wish to release me from my oath.” 

“You do not have to do this.” Her voice was quiet. Erik unsheathed his knife and used it to cut on small wound onto his sword hand. He spread the blood down the blade of his sword, and squeezed his fist so that some fell in droplets to the hard earthen floor. 

“It is done, Lady. My sword is yours.”

He managed to lift his eyes to her face, and he stared at her. It felt like a long time, but it was probably only a few moments. She looked at him with some fierce feeling he could not fathom. Was it anger? Or grief? 

“Thank you, Thurgil,” she said finally. “I am grateful for your service. Always.” 

He nodded, and then he turned and left the hall. He did not look back. He bothered Brione to refill his pouch with weak ale for the road, and his sack with bread, and apples, and hard cheese. Darkness was falling around him, clouding the air with welcome coolness. The light would be gone soon, but he could not stay in Aegelsburgh another night. So he mounted his gray stallion and rode from the fortress, roving out into the night to find his fate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so uhhhh…I’m sorry. I’m like, really really sorry. I didn’t actually know that this was where things were going until writing…I don’t know, Chapter 35 or so? I mean, I’m also not sorry, because I think that’s the way things had to happen in this story and forcing a neat, happy ending is just not my style. But I’m sorry if you feel like you’ve wasted a terribly large investment of time reading this only to be let down in this way. Hopefully you picked up on some of the hints that things might be heading this way, and also, perhaps you realized that I am an ANGST QUEEN, so of course I would write an ending like this. (I think I am actually physically incapable of writing fluff but I am working out it for Book 3 I PROMISE!) 
> 
> I feel like it’s actually my way of honoring their relationship - over all these chapters and through all these trials, they’ve been trying to figure out how to actually love each other in a real way - as equals. The inevitable realization is that….they cannot love each other as equals within the political landscape they are caught in. And that sucks, but at least it’s honest to their love for each other. 
> 
> BUT….BUT…I must say…it’s not over till it’s over! Book 3 is underway. It's called Fate and Folly and the first chapters are up!! It will take place five years after the events of Fate’s Lady. It will feature our dashing and strong willed “not-like-anyone-else-in-the-world” Lady, and it will feature our favorite hot Norse warlord with a heart of gold. As Uhtred says: “It starts simple. What happens from there is fate!" But let’s be honest, we all know that Aethelrik will never die. They’re perfect for each other. Never believe anything else.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and all the love over this long journey. I hope you’ve enjoyed it and will stick around to see what happens next!


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